“I’ve never heard anything so lovely,” Laura whispered.
Angel pressed a hand against her face, her fingers trembling.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Fine.” She shook herself like her skin felt uncomfortable. “I was just thinking of my brother.”
“Were you close?”
“He died when I was eight. No one sang the lament for him.” She shuddered on an indrawn breath. “It was nice to hear it with you.”
I stroked the side of my glass. “I’m sorry… that you lost him.”
“They murdered him—men he trusted. He was the Alpha, and they killed him. Came after his family. They killed my parents. Cut my face. I played dead. There was enough blood, and the cowards left. Burned down the house—didn’t stick around long enough to see me crawl out the back.”
“Is your pack still around?” Laura asked; she was thinking about her own lost pack, those who had scattered and those who had died.
“Yes.” And from the tightening on Angel’s face, the men who killed her brother were probably in control.
Laura asked, “You’ve been on your own since then?”
Angel’s lips thinned into a smile. “I had a benefactor. He taught me, mentored me until I struck out on my own.”
“Have you ever wanted vengeance?”
Laura again, her fingers tight on her wrist, her eyes glittering.
“Vengeance can be a gift,” the mercenary said, as sympathy raced between Angel and Laura. Two victims struggling in the aftermath, shoring up each other’s crumbling walls with the hope of revenge.
Anson and Fallon still murmured to the men and women who’d gathered around to offer respect. Gratitude. The girl continued playing, her violin singing with music far more cheerful and contemporary than the lament. A few more dollar bills made it into her open violin case.
Laura was staring at Angel before she picked up her glass and sipped. “You have Noa’s eyes.”
Angel barked out a laugh. “If I had your friend’s eyes, I’d have both of them.”
“I meant the color.”
“Hazel is common.” Angel stood as if she’d walk away, but Anson was approaching and she held her ground. I didn’t think the merc liked questions about herself, and perhaps the details weren’t what we needed to hear.
“You left before I could mention it,” Anson said to me. “I have a package for you and Fallon. Salvaged items from Azul. It came from the Refuge with the refugees.” His attention moved to Laura. “I’ve stored it in the archive. I can walk you back, show you where.”
Laura stood, and the way she smoothed her blouse had me questioning why her fingers trembled. “Thank you.” Color moved into her face. She dipped her chin, and when they walked away, Anson shortened his stride for her. Positioned himself at her side, yet not close enough to make her uneasy.
I arched my eyebrows. Fallon shrugged. She was leaning on her cane, with one hand rubbing against the muscle in her thigh while she asked Angel, “Is that pain reliever legal?”
“Legal and natural,” Angel said. “Are you able to walk—or should I go get it?”
“I’ll walk. Can’t have you looking like my dealer.”
“I can get that for you, too,” the merc offered, but Fallon shook her head and set out for the Farmer’s Market, her cane thudding heavily.
We strolled through the glass-walled space, pausing at the various booths. Food vendors sliced roasting meats, piled high on warm buns. I lingered at a booth featuring little figurines of an old woman with sticks on her back. I reached out to touch one, but Angel smacked my hand back.
“Don’t touch that,” she said, glaring at the woman behind the cluttered wooden counter. Not a wolf, but a witch, as old and wrinkled as the figurines she was selling.
“What are they?” I asked.
“La Loba, the Wolf Woman,” Angel said. “Also known as the Bone Woman. She collects the bones of fallen wolves, puts the skeletons back together and resurrects them, if you believe in that sort of thing.”
