Guilty as Sin (35 page)

plan? Godsdammit, Michael, speak to me!”

“That
‟
s what makes it fun.” Michael stroked the silky tail curled around his middle.

“Petey works in the boiler room. Didn
‟
t you know?” He chuckled at her baffled

expression.

“Petey?” Dax
‟
s honeyed baritone rumbled out of the darkness. “But I saw him this

morning at school. Veil-it, there
‟
s nothing to him. He
‟
s only so high.” A hand indicated

a spot around his knee.

Michael stared into Dax
‟
s shadowed face. “He needs the work. So remember, we

don
‟
t know him here.”

Dax muttered a curse, but he nodded.

“He said he
‟
d leave the door unlatched.” Every nerve tingling with anticipation,

Michael unwound Lise
‟
s tail. “Let
‟
s go.”

“Wait.” Dax grabbed his shoulder. “No heroics, you hear?”

“Yeah, sure—
mmpf!
” Dax hauled him into a kiss, deep and open-mouthed and

desperate. Through the roaring in his ears, he heard Lise make a hoarse, helpless sound

in her throat.

Abruptly, he was released.

“You too,” Dax growled at Lise. “You especially.” Huge dark wings wrapped her

up. Dax bent his head and her fists clenched hard in his shirt.

163

Michael locked his knees, apprehension and lust dancing a jig together in his belly.

Twister take him! Dax wasn
‟
t like any man he
‟
d ever met. How the fuck could such an

innocent be so strong, so dominating? It was dangerous, that
‟
s what it was.

Instinctively, he reached out for Lise. “C
‟
mere, love.” She came into his arms easily

enough—but only because Dax let her go.

“What he said,” said Michael, helping himself to soft lips. When her tongue twined

around his, he swore he could taste the other man. His head reeled. Gods, he had to

fuck them soon,
soon!
Or he was going to get himself killed. Distracted thieves died

young.

Reluctantly, he pulled away, acutely conscious of the big hand on his shoulder.

“Fuck it, come
on!
”

164

Mirry,

I understand your concerns. Do I take it you speak for Jan also?

Yes, I agree, by the standards of the Eyrie, Sereian justice is barbaric. Nonetheless, we are

here to negotiate trade agreements, not to demonstrate our moral superiority. Please remember

that at all times. In the meantime, if we can help reduce crime in the city, well and good. I am

doing what I can with the Treaty, but Sereians are a proud race in general and the Prince

inordinately so.

Burn this note immediately, please.

Lady Chriz

Note to Miriliel the Burnished, from Lady Chrizariel the Azure, Winged Envoy to

the Court of Sere.

* * * * *

“Up there and around to the left.” Michael jerked his head toward the passage at

the head of the servant
‟
s stairs. They
‟
d seen no one, though he had no doubt they
‟
d

been observed. He made a mental note—young Petey would be worth cultivating.

Dax rubbed at the side of his skull, spreading dark streaks of coal dust across his

forehead and through his hair. With a muffled exclamation of disgust, he wiped his

filthy hands on his trews. Michael bit his lip. Both he and Lise were smeared, but the

roof of the coal cellar was so low Dax had been forced to crouch almost double. The

Aetherii had already banged his head three times that Michael had counted.

“Ready?” said Lise.

Blades in hand, the men nodded.

“Michael, you go left, Dax goes right and I
‟
ll take the center. Keep low.”

But when Michael tried the door, it was locked. Fuck, he didn
‟
t have time to pick

the lock, Dax would have to—

Lise stepped past him and rapped politely with her knuckles.

“
What?
” growled a voice, disconcertingly close.

“I brung the wine, hautlord.” She sounded breathless and much, much younger.

Michael stared, impressed.

Silence then, “I didn
‟
t order wine.” It was a different voice, not so close to the door,

a pleasant tenor with a Valaressan accent.

Michael and Dax exchanged a triumphant glance. Veryl!

165

“Bubba
‟
s compliments, hautlord.” Lise paused. “It
‟
s brandywine frum the cellar,

old stuff.”

“You, open the door,” Veryl said. Lumbering footsteps approached and the lock

clicked. “Fair enough too, seein
‟
what the old bastard gouged outta—”

Dax and Michael hit the door as if they
‟
d worked together for years. As he rolled to

the left, Michael raked the chamber with a single comprehensive glance. Ah, there was

Veryl, paunchy and blond on the brocaded chaise longue. A tankard slipped from his

fingers and tumbled to the floor, splashing the legs of his trews with ale, though he

clearly didn
‟
t notice, being occupied with scrabbling about in the cushions.

In the center of the room were two deep stone tubs on a raised dais, one empty and

one crowded with the skinny, naked forms of half a dozen children.

“Tol
‟
ye he
‟
d fuckin
‟
come!” Bitsy stood up, exposing a pale, sunken rib cage and

meager breasts.

After that, things became mightily confused. A wooden club whistled past

Michael
‟
s jaw, and suddenly he was fighting for his life. One of the Gesacht boys, the

Twister knew which. He
‟
d never been able to distinguish between them.

“Get down!” he yelled at Bitsy as he ducked and wove. By way of answer, she

seized an oil bottle and hurled it at Veryl
‟
s head. It hit the wall and shattered. The room

filled with the cloying scent of
gaeta
blossom.

On the other side of the chamber, Dax slammed fourteen stone of thug with a

vicious wingstrike. The man staggered into the side of the second tub and the Aetherii

helped him over the edge with a big hand planted between his shoulder blades. Then

he held him down, ignoring the frantically kicking feet and the gouts of water

darkening his clothing.

Michael scanned the chamber. Where was Lise?

Fuck! Clearly, Gesacht senior was also on the payroll because Lise had her back to

the wall, her blade flickering like a tongue of lightning, holding not one but two hulking

men at bay.

His lips tight, Michael nipped under his opponent
‟
s guard and pinked his shoulder.

When the man howled and clapped a hand to the wound, the thief reversed his blade

and clipped him under the ear with the pommel. A shove to the chest and he was

running, running as he never had in his life, but too slow, too slow…

Behind him, Veryl howled, “Aargh! Bitch!” and Bitsy shrieked in triumph.

Just beyond his reach, Lise embarked on some complicated maneuver that involved

a sweeping tail, a wingstrike and razor-sharp steel. The two Gesachts collapsed as if

their legs had been cut from beneath them. Perhaps they had.

Lise looked up, gray eyes blazing, fierce as a
highhunter
‟
s. Then they widened.

Michael glanced over his shoulder. Veryl leaned against the wall, one forearm

dripping blood, a fully armed crossbow in his hands pointed toward Lise. Dax had

166

abandoned his Gesacht and launched himself forward, but the tub was in the way and

he had to circle around it.

Horror made time stretch like taffy.

Veryl
‟
s fleshy mouth twisted in a snarl. Raising the bow, he aimed and pulled the

trigger.

Snapping out of his paralysis, Michael leaped, gathering Lise in his arms. Puzzling

over it later, he wondered what in the gods
‟
names he thought he
‟
d accomplish. Rank

stupidity, all of it.

They hit the floor together, the crossbow bolt thrumming over Michael
‟
s shoulder

like an evil insect. Lise cried out and sagged in his grip. Dax bellowed.

Michael couldn
‟
t have made any kind of sound to save his life. Vaguely, he was

aware of scuffling and swearing, of glass breaking and the sudden babble of children
‟
s

voices, guttersnipe shrill. Hands shaking, he cupped Lise
‟
s pale cheek.

“Lise.” With a thump, Dax fell to his knees beside them.

“I
‟
m—” Lise blinked up at them. Then she turned her head to look over her

shoulder. “Um, pinned. To the wall.” She gave a rasping chuckle. “Like a
flutterbye
.”

Michael followed her gaze and his stomach attempted to turn itself inside out. He

swallowed hard. Still quivering, the bolt was buried in a gray plume that shaded from

charcoal to silver to pink. The metal head was embedded several inches in the wall.

“Don
‟
t move, chick.” Reaching up, Dax worked the bolt free and flung it away with

a clatter. He slipped a gentle hand under the wing to provide support. “How bad is it?”

“Didn
‟
t hit anything vital. See?” She flexed. “Just took a chunk out of my primary,

godsdammit. Michael?” She touched his cheek. “You all right?”

He had to clear his throat before the words would come. “Yeah. The Gesachts. We

should—”

Dax was chuckling, a deep, warm sound of amusement.

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Michael did so, and blinked. There was no sign of Veryl, but under Bitsy
‟
s self-

possessed direction, five underfed naked children were securing Gesacht and sons. The

first two had already had their wrists and ankles lashed together with strips torn from

their own shirts. One was clearly unconscious, the other
‟
s face had gone a nasty gray-

green, one leg of his trews soaked in blood. Bitsy and Zemis were busy trussing the

remaining pair with what appeared to be the tiebacks from the curtains. All the

Gesachts looked damp, bruised and bloody, as if wet little hands had roughed them up.

The one Dax had dunked lay coughing and moaning in the center of a spreading

puddle.

“That girl has potential,” said Lise thoughtfully. She sat up, gingerly furling the

injured wing. “Ow.”

“What the fuck is going on here?” said a cold, furious voice.

167

Janarnavriel the Noir stood framed in the doorway, his handsome face grim. Bubba

and several of his daughters craned their heads to peer around his jet black wings, their

eyes wide.

“An
‟
who
‟
s goin
‟
to pay fer it, that
‟
s what I
‟
d like to know,” said Bubba, recovering

sufficiently to take a step forward.

“You are.” Jan froze him with a chilly blue gaze. “Harboring known criminals is

grounds for prosecution in Sere, I believe.”

Bubba spluttered. The daughters put their heads together and whispered. From the

floor below, excited voices rose in animated discussion. Who the hell was that?

Frowning, Jan scanned the broken furniture, the slippery pools of oil and the food

trodden into the rugs. “Where
‟
s Veryl?”

Lise got to her feet and Dax put his arm and a wing around her. “Went through a

window. That one.” She pointed.

Zemis picked his way through the broken glass before anyone could stop him.

“Mebbe he broke
‟
is fuckin
‟
neck,” he said hopefully. Clambering onto a couch, he

peered out, his pale, little boy
‟
s buttocks heartbreakingly flat, every bump in his spine

clearly delineated beneath the skin.

His shoulders slumped. “Nah, ain
‟
t no one there. Bastid
‟
s gone.” He brightened.

“There
‟
s blood though,” he said with relish. “A fuckin
‟
lot of it.”

“All clear,” Jan called back to someone down the stairs. “Bring her up.”

The words had barely left his lips when Fledge barreled past him, Mirry on her

heels. The place was suddenly full of bustle and movement, Fledge in the center of it all,

barking orders like a pint-sized general, though the effect was somewhat spoiled by the

tears rolling down her cheeks.

Jan
‟
s attention was not something Michael desired. Smoothly, he faded back into a

corner where he was partially concealed by an armchair. The security chief said very

little, but Bubba and his daughters hurried to do his bidding. Gods, the deep-indigo

eyes were startlingly vivid against the ivory skin. Add in the sable hair and glossy

ebony feathers… Michael suppressed the impulse to shake his head. Was there any

such thing as an ugly Aetherii—or even an ordinary-looking one?

Jan turned his head to watch Fledge as she wrapped a towel around a little girl.

Endearingly gap-toothed, the child managed a shaky smile for her, and for a moment,

his eyes glowed, his hard, beautiful face relaxing into softer lines. Over Fledge
‟
s bent

head, Mirry intercepted the glance and smiled too, everything he felt right there,

exposed for anyone to see.