The Madness Project (The Madness Method) (53 page)

Branigan straightened up when he caught sight of us, a vague
smile hovering around his lips.  I grimaced, because the notion that a thug
like Branigan was happy to see me made my blood curdle.

“Shade, right?” he called, as we came closer.

“Branigan,” I said.  I shoved my hands in my pockets and
stopped where I was, tilting my head back to stare at him.

He took his hat off and tucked back the displaced strands of
his dark hair.  “Joren said you had an air.  Didn’t think I’d believe him.”

I didn’t answer.

“Well, don’t just stand there, Mage,” he said, as if my gift
were a title.  “We won’t bite.”

“You’ve got information for me?” I asked, never moving. 
“That’s all I’m interested in.”

He smiled.  “Not very congenial of you.”

Jig shifted his weight behind me—primed for a fight, I
knew.  Ever since we’d walked away from Joren, he’d been itching for a battle. 
But he’d be an idiot to think we could take on these men, even though Branigan
had only two toughs to Joren’s five.  They had a deadly air about them.

“Come on,” Branigan said, jerking his head, beckoning me. 
“Let’s have a chat, just you and me.  Tell your lads to scram.”

I hesitated, my blood turning cold.  “Don’t see how that
sounds…congenial.”

He laughed.  “Don’t you trust me?”

“I can’t think of a reason why I should.”

“Way I heard it, you could take down all of us at a thought,
if you had a mind to.  Maybe I’m the one at a disadvantage.”

I turned and met Anuk’s frigid glance, then shifted back to
Branigan and said, “Give me a moment.”

“Sure thing.”  He gave me a kind of patronizing grin, like
he knew I was in way over my head, no matter how he made pretenses to the
contrary.  “Take your time.”

He took a step away, shooing the toughs back with him.  I
waited, hands in my pockets, until they’d gotten out of earshot, though I could
still see Branigan’s smirk across the shadows.  I turned to the lads.

Coins grabbed my arm.  “Don’t let him bait you.”

“I don’t trust that man,” Anuk said, glowering.

“Me either.  But if I can get the dirt from him, it’ll be
worth it,” I said.

“Shade,” Jig said, and took a step closer to me.  “That
man’s killed people, just for…I dan’ na, for not having the right look.”

“I know.” 

“Don’t think you’re invulnerable,” Anuk murmured.  “For all
you can do, that man can do ten times worse.”

My heart snagged on the corner of fear, but I just gripped
his arm and gave him a little shove.  “Go on.  Get out of here while he still
lets you.”

Anuk glared at me; he was worried, I could always tell.  And
Jig was on the fighting edge, face pale and pupils huge in the shadows.  I had
to get him away, at least, or the evening would end in blood.  I was dead sure
of that.  Finally Anuk sighed and turned away, waving the other kids after
him.  One by one they followed, slowly clearing the alley, until it was just me
and Branigan and the toughs.  I swallowed and turned around to face them.

“Loyal crew you’ve got,” Branigan said, sidling up to me. 
“I can respect that.”

“All right,” I said.  “It’s just us.  So talk.”

“Oh.”  He waved at me.  “Let’s get off the streets.  Come
have a drink with me.”

I gritted my teeth, warning flags waving like mad in my
thoughts.  This nightmare just kept falling deeper and deeper into disaster. 
But I followed him, because I had to, and because somewhere in the back of my
mind I kept telling myself I could always Cloak to get out of danger, if it
came to that.  I just hoped that Anuk had decided to lurk in the shadows and
trail us at a distance…but it was a feeble hope.  I’d told him to scram, so,
he’d likely obeyed.

The toughs walked behind me and Branigan, not to be polite,
but to keep me from bolting.  Somehow the situation kept shifting away from me
being in control, to me being trapped.  We wound through the shadows until even
I couldn’t tell where we were.  Then, abruptly, we stepped out into an alley
that I recognized.  My heart sank, and my blood ran cold.

The sweet shop.

Branigan shot me a glance, appraising me.  I met his gaze coldly.

“Never been to this joint I take it?” he asked, that same
strange smile on his face.

“Can’t say I have,” I said.

He pushed open the door, the toughs crowding up behind me. 
If I had any lingering illusions about this being a meet of equals, they fizzled
with the point of a gun in the small of my back.  I winced and stepped into the
shadows inside.

From the doorway it looked rather like Astel’s dive.  Booths
lined the walls around a wide bar like any old restaurant, but the place
extended even further into curtained-off rooms that leeched amber light, sickly
sweet smells, and utter, terrifying silence.

Branigan waved me into a booth.  I slid into the seat across
from him, and one of the toughs shot me a vicious grin as he sat beside me.  He
was the one with the gun; I glanced down and saw it laying across his lap,
pointed at me.  For a moment the other man fumbled with the sticky oil lamp on
the table, striking two matches that must have gotten wet before finally
getting one to light.  Once the lamp was burning, Branigan caught the
bartender’s eye and held up two fingers.

I’d never felt quite so hyper-aware of my scant seventeen
years as that moment.  Next to these men, I felt so exposed, so powerless.  I
tried not to hunch over the table, or cram myself into the corner of the booth,
but even sitting straight and calm, I knew Branigan could see right through the
sham.

“Now we can talk,” he said, flashing me a shallow smile.

“Now you’ve trapped me?” I asked.

“Oh, come on.  We’re all friends here.”

Call no man friend…
I heard Trabin say.

“Then go ahead and talk,” I said.  “Any time you want to
share.”

A waitress set down a pair of low glasses in front of
Branigan and me, the sickly golden liquid swallowing the lamplight.  Cheap
liquor.  Branigan took his glass and swirled it.

“Here’s the thing,” he said.  “I’m thinking an even trade. 
But first, let’s drink to a mutually profitable business arrangement.”

He raised his glass and I, gritting my teeth, lifted my own
and took a small sip.  The liquid hit my tongue with a caustic fire, and I
grimaced.  I’d never had a liking for whiskey, and this was the worst I’d ever
had.  The cloying taste lingered in my mouth, turning bitter once I’d
swallowed.  I tried another sip, as if that could wash away the taste, but it only
made it worse.  I scraped my tongue against the roof of my mouth and grimaced.

“What sort of even trade?” I asked, settling the glass
between us.

He waved his hand.  “Business can wait.  I’ve heard so much
about you, but we really haven’t had a chance to get to know one another yet,
have we?”

“I hadn’t noticed.”

“He’s prickly, isn’t he?” Branigan asked his boys.  “No
wonder he’s got a name for himself already.”  Then he asked me, “You’re from
Istia, right?  Mage?  What brought you to Cavnal?”

“Not the whiskey,” I said.

He laughed aloud.  “Well, we’re not too picky down here.” 
He studied me a bit, then flicked a glance at the two men flanking us.  “Relax,
boys.  I think you’re making him nervous.”

They obeyed like dogs, going from rigid watchfulness to easy
lounging in a mere moment.  But the tough next to me didn’t holster his gun. 
It didn’t bother me, though.  It was all kind of ridiculous.

“What’s it like, Istia?” Branigan asked.  “Always wanted to
see it.”

“Stars, who wouldn’t?” I asked.  “It’s…paradise.”

“Paradise, eh?  Never heard it described like that.”

“Depends on your notion of paradise, I suppose,” I said.

My throat tickled with thirst, so I sipped again at the
liquor.

“What’s your clan?”

I narrowed my eyes.  “Why are you wasting my time?”

“Oh,” he said, drawling the syllable, feigning injury.  “And
here I’d thought we could be friends, you and me.”

“That’s not my problem.”

I almost laughed, because he looked a bit startled, maybe
even confused.  He wasn’t so bad, Branigan.  He talked like he was some kind of
tough mob boss, but nobody had told me how easy he’d be to intimidate.  I
leaned back, smiling.  This wouldn’t be too hard.  Not too hard at all.

“Why do you need these boys following you around, Branigan?”
I asked.  “Lonely?”

“Watch your mouth,” snapped the tough sitting beside me.

I wrinkled my nose.  “I can’t.  Unless you’ve got a mirror
on hand.”

He exchanged a glance with Branigan, some dark, pointed look
that struck me as rather amusing.

“Oh, c’mon,” I said.  “That was funny.”

“Yeah,” he said.  “Hilarious.”

“You know he’s got a gun pointed at me?” I asked Branigan,
the words a little too loud.  My throat burned, but the whiskey did a fair job
of soothing it.  “Not a very nice way to treat your friends, right?”

“Not sure I can trust you just yet,” Branigan said.  “You’re
not exactly being very friendly yourself.”

I laughed, the sound harsh and abrading in my ears.  For
some reason I found myself leaning forward, peering out into the room, counting
all the burning lamps, sketching each shadowed face in my mind.  The barmaid
caught my gaze and winked, and I didn’t blush and I didn’t glance away, but I
grinned and leaned back, twirling my cup dangerously on the tabletop.

“Can we just finish up here?”

“Got somewhere you need to be?” Branigan asked, malicious.

Did I?  A vague confusion tugged on my thoughts, but I waved
it aside.  It wasn’t important.  I leaned my head against the back of the
booth, staring up at the pipes in the ceiling.  They made me think of the
motorcar, though I don’t know why, with its pipes and boiler and twisting
coils…

Branigan was talking to me.  I hadn’t heard a word of it.  I
leaned forward, too far, so I found myself staring at the table instead of
Branigan.  Funny.

“Sorry, what?” I asked.

He gave me a peeved look.  “Listen, Shade.  You know I’ve
got some information Rivano is going to want.  And it’s come to my attention
that you might have some for me.  Even trade.”

He thought I had information for him?  As if I would share
any information with him, the fool, the coward.  I took another sip of the
whiskey, eying him over the rim of my glass the way my father—no, Trabin—so
often did.

“That’s what you heard, is it?”

He smiled, like acid.  “You have friends in lofty places.”

That snapped me into a faint bit of worry. 
What has he
heard?  What does he know?

“Not all of them are, apparently,” I said with all the
bravado I could summon, and stared straight at him.

He laughed and pointed his glass at me.  “
That
was
funny.”

The muscle sitting next to him smirked at me, approving, the
smile fractured by the scar on his cheek.

“What can you tell me about Dreyden?” Branigan asked.

I frowned.  “Who?”

“My eyes on the street said they saw you with him.”

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” I said, my voice
pitching up, too loud.

“Don’t give me that bull.”

“Who is he?” I asked, and when he just stared at me, I
slammed my hand on the table and leaned forward.  “I
don’t
know.”

Branigan sat back, scrutinizing me with a cold gaze.  I met
it evenly, desperate to convince him I was telling the truth.

Finally I asked, “Can you describe him at least?”

Branigan exchanged a glance with the man beside me.

“Tall,” he said.  “Bald.  Fidgety.”

Kor!
I realized, flinching. 
Oh, this is just
swell
.  I took another sip of the whiskey, while the corners of my vision
faded and darkened, and the tips of my fingers tingled.  A strange uneasiness
crept over me.  I’d drunk more than this before, but it had never affected me
like this.  This was something else.  This was…wrong.

My fingers spasmed on the glass.

“Said his name was Dreyden?” I asked, to give myself a
moment to gather my scattering thoughts.

Branigan was watching me like a hawk.  Waiting.  Waiting for
what?  My heart thudded, wanting to race, but turning sluggish instead.  Every
nerve in my body screamed at me to run away, to get away, but I couldn’t move. 
Couldn’t think.

Don’t talk.  Don’t talk.  Don’t talk.

Oh God.

The table moved under my hands, like a boat on water. 
Branigan twisted the knob on the oil lamp, making the light flare up.  Blinding. 
Too bright, too bright… I winced away and found myself staring at the barrel of
the gun in the tough’s lap, shining like lightning.  My hand fought to hold
myself up, and my tongue…my tongue cleaved to the roof of my mouth,
parched…thick…cracking.  I needed to drink something, anything…

“You all right, Shade?” Branigan asked, the words weaving
into my thoughts in watery pulses.

I gestured at my face, terror like suffocation beating down
on me.

“Here,” he said, nudging my glass toward me.  “Take a drink. 
It’ll be fine.”

My fingers tightened on the glass and I felt another hand on
mine, steadying it, helping me lift the glass to my lips.  I sipped greedily at
the liquid.  The sweetness stuck to my throat, and I drank again to wash it
away.  My head pounded.  Lights exploded all across my vision.

“What’re you doing?” I asked…or tried.  The words crawled
out like sludge.

“All right, that’s enough,” Branigan said, pulling the cup
away from me. 

My hands spasmed toward it, fingers clawing.  I’d die
without something to drink.  I’d die, I’d die…

“You’re just a bit uneasy,” Branigan said.

Someone’s hand fought mine back, because I kept trying to
grab the glass that was just…just…too far to reach.

“Give me that,” I gasped, fighting the tough for my hand.