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Iggy grinned. “Say it slower.”
“Dam . . .fi . . no. Damned if I know.” I laughed the laugh of the tipsy. “If I trusted you, I might actually grow to like you.”
Iggy put the cigar back in his pocket. “You’ve seen Bea, have you? Woman doesn’t trust anyone.”
“Especially assassins.” I watched for reactions, but I was fairly sure I wasn’t the first to ask about his avocation.
Iggy held my gaze. “You’re innocent then? No blood on those calloused hands?”
“Wasn’t talking about me.” I shrugged.
“The world wasn’t kind to hexen even then.” Iggy swirled my glass of whisky. “Least I wasn’t a woman, a Jew, and Irishman. Plenty of hate those days.”
“Still is,” I interjected.
“Fear, though, if it’s deep enough makes hate pause and look for an easier victim. I was never an easy victim.” Iggy lifted my glass, taking a long sniff. “Damn shame I cannot drink.”
“Why would a privileged man need to—”
“Do you think I was born with this name, Hexen? That I was to the manor born?” He sounded like he was both laughing at me and challenging me. “My knuckles were bloodied, and my trousers worn when I decided to create Ignatius Blackwood.”
“If I knew your real name—”
“No one does, Hexen. Not even the lovelydraugrqueen. . . andthatone knows the map of my scars.”
Even tipsy, I realized that my lack of his name might be the secret to why I couldn’t force him into his grave. And I knew that he was the one telling me that truth. If I knew, I might be able to put him back, but he was banking on the temptation of knowledge to keep me from doing so.
“Going to patrol,” I called. “Just looping a few blocks with Iggikins.”
It wasn’t quite asking if Eli minded, but I was allowing a moment for his objections. When none came, I walked over to the bar and asked, “Wait for me?”
“Haven’t I been waiting long enough?” Eli murmured.
I smacked a loud kiss on him. “Soon.”
Then I grabbed a sword, a go-cup of blood and coffee, and headed to the door. “Come on, Iggypoo.”
“Has anyone told you that you could charm the wings off a fly, Geneviève?” Iggy groused as he stepped into the street with me.
“Nope.”
“Shocking.” He motioned for me to pause. “Roll out the senses. Visualize the grid.”
“The grid?” I blinked at him.
“The streets, the river, the graves, the parks . . .”
As he spoke, I tried his way. It was a more orderly version of my “let my magic free” approach.
“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’m at your side watching.”
Typically, I’d refuse such a suggestion, but we were mere steps from Eli’s place. So I let my eyes drop briefly.
“Adjust your vision. You arehexen. Necromancy. Magic. Chain it to your will.” Iggy’s voice felt like it was inside my head, like I could glimpse him out the corner of my eye. Firmly, he ordered, “Open but hold the map.”
When I opened my eyes, Iggy was a shadow of a person at my side, and the city looked different. Traces of deaths were on the ground, buildings, or trees in purple splotches.
“Darker is newer,” Iggy said, voice strained.
