Page 142 of Turncloak

Of course, the Bloodmoons might have had means of listening long before they entered the shop, in which case…

Apoth Zamorin shook her head. “No, it’s alright. I’ve told you everything I know. Hopefully that’s enough.”

“Apoth Zamorin, please, come with us. We won’t let any harm befall you.”

The Bloodmoons drew their wands, and Auria thought her bowels might empty from the terror.

The apothecary’s tears flowed silently and furiously. “Leave me be.”

I can’t leave you be, Auria screamed internally. They’ll kill you for what you’ve just told us.

“Detective Marriosan,” Nissa muttered. “The Apoth has told us everything she knows. It’s time to go.”

No.

Auria searched the old woman’s face, the warm hazel eyes, the kindliness to her smile, and she saw her own grandfather: Papa Marriosan, the gelatier, the life of the party, the head of their family, one of her very favorite people in the world. Slain by Bloodmoons, as Apoth Zamorin would be too.

She couldn’t let them keep doing this.

Relar Zamorin would be shattered the same way she was shattered.

Perhaps she could fire effigias curses at the Bloodmoons while Nissa got the apothecary out alive. If only she could communicate subliminally with Nissa, get her to assist with the extraction, maybe then—

“Marriosan,” Nissa hissed, striding toward the door.

Panic towered inside Auria. Turning her desperate gaze back to the apothecary, she whispered, “Apoth Zamorin, please…”

But the shopkeeper simply shook her head, resigned to her fate. Trembling, sobbing, but resigned.

Why wouldn’t the old woman at least try to escape with her life?

Almost as soon as she asked the internal question, she answered it.

The apothecary wouldn’t want Auria and Nissa to perish in the crossfire. It was a hallmark of the old, the way they threw themselves upon the sword to protect the young. She saw it time and time again on the streetwatch.

As she made her final decision, she felt the touch of Papa Marriosan’s broad hand on her shoulder, smelled sweet citrus and pistachio and rich caramel gelato, and mourned so suddenly and gravely that it rendered her hollow.

That hollowness propelled her to the door.

Past the Bloodmoons, past Filan Ferrow, and onto the street.

But not before she slid the listening bracelet off her wrist and into an open sack of tea leaves.

Outside, she was surprised to find the sun was shining, the thin blanket of snow already melting. It seemed impossible for the capital to be washed in warm gold when such horror nestled in every corner. Nissa rested a palm on the back of Auria’s arm, gently ushering her down the street and around the corner, out of sight of Etherstone’s.

“The Whitewings have the apothecary hunting out spinebark?” Nissa leaned back against the creamstone wall of a quaint milliners’ while she sparked up an achullah. “Hells. That’s even more addictive than nightpoppy.”

But Auria could barely think about spinebark, about the gang war, about the case. She could only think of Apoth Zamorin. “I left my bracelet in there to record whatever happens next. It doesn’t give us ears right now, but it’ll capture…whatever happens next.” Her eyes stung, and she let out an involuntary choking sob. “We left her there to die, Nissa.”

“There was no other option.” Nissa’s tone was softer than usual, but still coarse with achullah smoke. “We didn’t have the evidence to make an arrest. You tried to get her out of there, and it was admirable, but if she refused, what could we do?”

A velvine strolled down the street, stopped by Auria’s heel, and brushed up against her calves. She’d always attracted the beasts, for some reason. The black-furred, purple-eyed cat leapt from the snow-dusted cobbles onto Auria’s shoulders, purring soft breath over the bare skin of her throat—right where the kingpin’s blade had sliced three shallow cuts. Pleasure rolled into Auria’s well despite the devastation of the situation.

“It isn’t right. We should have been able to stop it.”

Nissa pressed her mouth into a flat line, smoke billowing from her nostrils. “We did what was lawful.”

“Really? You’re trying to make a dig about—”