Page 51 of Wicked Endeavors

The night was crisp enough to make her wrap her cloak tighter around her shoulders. Cicadas buzzed, their clicking song drowned out by the Rojanea nightlife. Music flooded from bars. Horses slumbered in stables, whinnying quietly. Drunken welks wandered the streets, their laughter bright. They may not have been invited to the Coronet, but that didn’t mean they didn’t know how to make their own fun.

Marisol dug her hands into her pockets, palming the key she’d taken. She’d brushed against one of the reapers at House Muerte, stolen the key, transformed it into two identical ones, and then returned one to the witch. They may not have gotten an orange blossom, but she wasn’t going to let a lock stop her from stealing one later. The feel of the cool metal reminded her of Teo’s desperation, his impulsive actions and lost expression. She wondered if he and Bas were discussing how he’d almost ruined everything.

She wondered if they were discussing her.

Marisol was drawn out of her thoughts by the sound of footsteps. The street she had turned down was quieter than the main road; most of the shops were closed except for a single inn occupying the center of the block. There were no partiers or horse-drawn carriages to be seen, which made the footsteps stand out in the otherwise quiet night.

Someone was following her.

She sped up, only for the person to speed up as well. She slowed, and they slowed. She considered ducking into the inn and waiting them out, but it was already so late and she was already so tired. If they just wanted money, they could have every ducado in her bag.

If they wanted a fight, she was happy to give them one.

Marisol stopped in the bright circle of a streetlamp and turned. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“Not sure if you’re brave or stupid,” said a familiar voice. Rodrigo stepped into the light, wearing all black and a low hat but lacking the mask she had last seen him in. He had a knife in his hand, raised so that she could see it. “But I know that you’re a thief.”

“R—What are you talking about?” Marisol wished she’d gone into the inn. The urge to be overfamiliar with him would be her undoing. “You’re the one robbing me. Again.”

“Trust me, I’m not eager to see you again, either. But you took something from Ofelia’s house, and I want it back.”

Her fingers tightened around her bag, where the dolphin pendant was hidden. “Does Ofelia know you’re doing this?”

“I told her that there was no way some noble would just give her a job out of the goodness of their heart, but I had no idea the noble was you. Why steal back something so small? Something you could buy hundreds of? What was the point if not just to hurt her and the kids?” Rodrigo stepped forward, the sharp line of his blade glinting silver in the lamplight. “You can’t stand it when we have anything for ourselves. You need us to be miserable because you’re miserable.”

Marisol didn’t back away, but she didn’t draw her daggers, either. She was trying to find a way out of this that didn’t involve a fight, because she would win and she didn’t want to draw blood. And she couldn’t run away; he would catch up to her easily. She’d spent so much time looking for Rodrigo that she hadn’t stopped to think about what she would actually say to him. Now he’d left her no choice but to figure it out quickly.

“I gave her the job because no one should be living on the streets. I’m never there anyway—”

“We aren’t charity projects,” Rodrigo spat. “Do you want an award, for helping to solve a problem you created?”

“Can you just put the weapon down? I can explain everything.”

“The pendant.” He gestured at her bag with the knife. “It’s not worth your life.”

Marisol couldn’t reconcile this cold boy with the one she had known. Rodrigo had been surly and insensitive, emotionally unavailable and sarcastic, but he had never been cruel. Before, she would have thought him incapable of robbing someone at knifepoint.

They’d both come so far from the people they used to be.

“It’s mine,” she said, and this time she did take a step back. “It’s all I have of her. I’ll give you anything else but that.”

Guilt flashed across his face, and for a moment Marisol thought that maybe she had gotten through to him without revealing herself. But then: “Buy yourself another one. Buy twelve. But hand that one over.”

“I—”

“Now.”

Marisol almost laughed at the absurdity of Rodrigo trying to rob her of her pendant to—what? Give it back to her? There was no other obvious reason for him to be so focused on it. After all, his note to Ofelia had said Doesn’t Caya like these?

She wanted to drop her magic and scream It’s me, but she still didn’t dare. Anyone could have been watching.

“I won’t.” Marisol swallowed. “Let’s just talk about this.”

“Wrong answer.”

Rodrigo lunged forward, and Marisol twisted away just in time to avoid getting her cheek cut open. The knife sliced her hood instead, and it flew from her head, leaking tiny pearls onto the street. She ducked another slash, hugging her bag to her chest like a shield. Give him the pendant. Draw your daggers. Run.

Her body did none of this. His sloppy moves were telegraphed, and she dodged them in the hopes of tiring him out.