Guilty as Sin (7 page)

32

gather, she
‟
d managed to teach a few of the older ones some basic figuring, to write

their names and read simple sentences. Their trust would be a hard-won thing.

It looked as though she spent a lot of time talking, touching—dishing out

undemanding, clear-eyed affection. It took courage to give yourself like that day after

day, week after week, to endure the bottomless well of despair that was life in the

slums, and all without falling apart. Mirry had done well. She might be Grounded, she

might be small, but his cousin
‟
s woman didn
‟
t lack for guts.

Hell no. Far from it.

Still deep in thought, Dax grunted softly. Fledge belonged not only to Mirry, but to

Janarnavriel the Noir. He eyed her compact curves with respect and wonder. Even on a

good day, Jan was formidable. Rip the Veil, how had one small Grounded survived a

Mating Flight with those two? More to the point, how in the gods
‟
names had they gone

about it? The logistics boggled the mind.

Lise rose, dusting off her trews and settling her feathers.

Dax wrenched his mind away from a tangle of smooth limbs and thrashing wings.

“Coming?” she said. Liseriel the Gray had a deep voice for a woman, husky as a

boy
‟
s. Just as it had the first time he
‟
d heard it, the sound thrummed down his spine

and lodged, buzzing, at the base of his tail. She didn
‟
t remember him. Of course, why

should she? He
‟
d been a shy, gangly seventeen to her composed, mature twenty-one,

but from the moment he
‟
d seen her, heard her speak— Ah well.

Conscious of his quivering tail tip and the godsbedamned flush on his cheeks, Dax

dipped his head toward the slumbering Nell and inhaled deeply. Immediately, his eyes

watered and his problem wilted.

“I
‟
ll take her.” Wrinkling her nose, Fledge held out her arms.

As he passed the baby over, Dax watched Lise
‟
s tail swishing back and forth, the

close-fitting feathers that sheathed it gleaming like molten silver in the sunlight. Clad in

gray trews, her legs were slim and shapely. Everything about Liseriel the Gray was top

quality, nothing flashy. She
‟
d always been like that, quiet and competent, one of the

best students at the Pinion Academy, while he
‟
d been a junior, lowest of the low. She

had a quiet glow about her like a featherpearl of the finest grade. No wonder she
‟
d

risen to become Janarnavriel
‟
s second. He allowed himself a pleasurable shiver. An

intelligent and ruthless enemy, but ah gods, what an ally, a friend!

If he couldn
‟
t help but wonder what she
‟
d be like as a lover, who was to know?

Most of the children had disappeared. When Dax raised an inquiring brow, Fledge

shrugged, settling Nell on her shoulder. “Once the food
‟
s gone, so are they.”

She led the way into the building attached to the yard, which turned out to be a

shabby warehouse. It wasn
‟
t much, but nonetheless, Dax scanned the dim space, a

couple of desks and benches marooned in the middle of it, a small stack of slates on the

floor in a corner. How did she pay the rent? he wondered.

33

Fledge caught his expression and grinned. “Jan knows something about the

merchant who owns it.” She ushered them toward the street door. “He won
‟
t tell me

what it is, but the man gives us the use of the ground floor free.”

Gingerly, Dax enveloped her free hand in his. “I
‟
ll help you.”

Lise
‟
s brows rose, but all she said was, “Don
‟
t worry about Bitsy, Fledge. She
‟
ll be

back in her own time. The boy too.”

The little Grounded nodded. “See you tonight at supper. Mind your head, Dax.”

The door creaked shut behind them.

The cobbled street baked in the afternoon heat, the Shadow still chasing the Sun

across the sky. There weren
‟
t many people about, most Sereians having shut up shop

and retired for siesta. An old woman pushing a small battered cart took one look at

them and hobbled hastily to the other side of the street, the broad brim of her flowered

hat flapping about her face. A noodle vendor and his customer stopped in mid-haggle,

mouths agape. A blowsy woman leaned out of a window and stared, the soft pillows of

her breasts as creased as her face. As they passed, she put two fingers in her mouth and

whistled.

Dax missed a step.

Lise chuckled. “Said you
‟
d stop the traffic. Well, what there is of it.”

He cast her a sidelong glance. “It
‟
s not just me.” The light gave her wings a

gorgeous sheen. He couldn
‟
t decide which color he liked best, the pale silver or the

deep charcoal or that faint rosy tinge suffusing the sumptuous cream.

Godsdammit, she
‟
d been speaking. “Sorry, what did you say?”

Lise drew him to a halt with a hand on his arm, the first time she
‟
d touched him

voluntarily. A tendril of smoke-blonde hair had escaped from its neat tie to caress her

cheek. “Concentrate, Dax.” She pierced him with a level gray gaze. “Or you
‟
re no use to

me at all. I was talking about Michael.”

He cleared his throat. “You said something about him in the office this morning.

He
‟
s a thief, right?”

Lise
‟
s hand crept up to rub one pointed ear, the strangest expression passing over

her elegant features, as if she were caught on the crux between exasperation and

pleasure. “He
‟
s a master thief and an assassin. With all the moral fiber of a Hssrdan on

the hunt.” Her lips thinned. “Anyone
‟
s fair game.”

With a courteous murmur, Dax detoured around a group of three washerwomen

who
‟
d stopped dead right in his path and kept going. “So where do you think he is?”

The back of his neck prickled with the intensity of the women
‟
s stares.

Lise growled under her breath, her tail lashing as she strode on. “Veil-it, I don
‟
t

know! We don
‟
t even really know what he looks like. He
‟
s brilliant at disguise.” Her

wings lifted and arched, brushing Dax
‟
s arm.

34

Fascinated, he watched an angry flush run up under the fine skin of her cheek.

There it was at last, he thought, the breath hitching in his chest. The fire beneath the ice.

Gods, it suited her.

“He could be anywhere!” Her steps slowed. “Anywhere…at…all.” She stopped.

“Shit,” she whispered, her fingers pinching her earlobe.

Because he was watching her so closely, Dax saw a wave of gooseflesh sweep up

out of the open neck of her shirt. Her breasts lifted as her lungs expanded, her nipples

pressing against the linen, small and sharp. He stopped breathing entirely.

Slowly, she turned, until she was facing back the way they
‟
d come. The old woman

with the cart scuttled around a corner.

“There!” Lise shouted, pointing. “That
‟
s him!”

She took off at a dead run, but when Dax kept pace, she glared. “No, no! Go

around.” She flung out an arm. “Cut him off. That way! Go!”

Dax spun on his heel, his long legs eating up the street. But he wasn
‟
t looking for a

turning. Air, what he needed was air. And height.

There! Spotting a sign swinging in the gentle breeze, he raced across a small square

and barreled through the double doors of a run-down tavern. Thundering past the

open-mouthed drinkers, he ran through the seedy bar and took the narrow stairs at the

back three at a time, not pausing until he reached the third floor. Then he set his

shoulder to the nearest door and charged. It gave way like tissue paper.

He had the vague impression of two fleshy bodies tangled on the bed, fat, hairy

buttocks contrasting with pale, dimpled thighs, but before the woman
‟
s first shriek split

the air, Dax had hurled himself headlong through the open window in a flat dive.

It was a near thing, his wings almost brushing the cobbles before he got a decent

downbeat going, the primaries fanning out to scoop the air beneath him with an audible

crack. Grunting with the effort, he brought the mighty musculature of Aetherii

shoulders and chest to bear, rising first to rooftop level and then higher. A hundred feet

up, he banked, coming around in a sweeping circle.

Lise hadn
‟
t slackened pace. She ran with the long, efficient stride of a trained

athlete, wings furled, tail streaming behind, but the old woman had nipped down a

slice of a passageway between two buildings and doubled back. Even more interesting,

she was running exactly like Lise, the cart long since abandoned.

Dax
‟
s lips pulled back from his teeth in a hunter
‟
s grin.

Silently, he descended to glide behind his quarry, keeping just below the roofline,

where a Grounded wouldn
‟
t think to look. The old woman
‟
s hat fell off, but she didn
‟
t

break stride. Grabbing the bun on the top of her head, she tossed the dubious coiffure

aside with a flip of her wrist. The skirt and apron followed, revealing a trim male figure

clad in shirt and trews, a cloud of dark hair whipping about his face and shoulders.

Thirty feet, twenty…

35

Dax watched the man run, the bunch and release of smooth muscle, shoulders,

waist, buttocks and thighs. Over and over.

The alley was so narrow, Dax
‟
s wingtip grazed a grimy wall. Jerking back, he rolled

his shoulders and flexed his fingers, his mouth very nearly watering with anticipation.

Fifteen feet.

Was this how it felt to be a
highhunter
, swooping on a helpless
bunrat
, talons

extended to rip and tear? His hearts pumped. He didn
‟
t need claws or a cruel beak, he

had the strength of his mighty muscles, the whip of his tail. Veil-it, the downdraft from

a single wingbeat would knock this Grounded off his feet. If that wasn
‟
t sufficient, there

was a blade at his waist and another hidden in his boot.

Close…closer…
Now!

Dax surged forward, arms extended to grab, but as he did so, he passed a vacant

lot. Sunlight poured into the space, illuminating it like the missing tooth in a slattern
‟
s

smile, throwing his shadow into sharp relief on the shabby wall ahead. Like a dark

portent, the facsimile of a wing slid past Michael at eye-level. Without a moment
‟
s

hesitation, the thief spun around into a fighter
‟
s crouch, a slim dagger gleaming bright