My breath stilled as I realized it was the grayskin who had given me his cloak as a blanket the other night, to help me from the cold. The one who had left me alone when I’d fallen asleep, when he easily could have snatched me up like Layson and drained me dry if he’d wanted.
Almost imperceptibly, the grayskin shook his head. I could hardly make out his face in the darkness, yet I recognized enough of his waxen, ashy features to know it was the same man.
“Seph!” Baylen hissed from up ahead. “What is it? You see something?”
I gulped past a dry throat. My palm was clammy on the handle of my dagger. I spun it in my hand before glancing toward Baylen and the others. They had traversed the entirety of the alley while I stood frozen here.
“N-No,” I croaked. I looked over once more at the grayskin before continuing. “Thought I did. Was a cat.”
Baylen harrumphed as I approached them. His eyes narrowed suspiciously but he said nothing as I passed.
We came to the other side of the town square. The alley had wrapped around it from the back.
Shouting erupted far to our right, past a raised garden and fenced sculpture of a gargoyle that stood in the middle of the square.
“There! Bloody fucker!”
Dimmon’s voice.
Our group sprinted over.
A cloaked figure emerged from the alley closest to us, stumbling as he almost barreled headfirst into Baylen at the front of our group.
I gasped, sliding to a stop, seeing the sweaty fear on the cloaked man’s face. The man tried to swerve at the last second to avoid Baylen—
But my friend jabbed his dagger into the man’s stomach.
The cloaked man crumpled forward, falling over Baylen. My friend stabbed him again, then a third time, and blood squelched on the cobbles at our feet.
I slapped a hand over my mouth, horrified as the groaning figure slumped on Baylen and forced both of them to the ground.
Seconds later, Dimmon and the rest of the Diplomats emerged from various alleyways and shadows.
“You got him! Good work, Baylo!” Dimmon shouted encouragingly.
A few of the Diplomat boys worked to slide the figure off Baylen so he could squirm out from under him. They rolled the body over . . . to show the face of a middle-aged man with a mustache, blood trickling down his chin, eyes open sightlessly in death.
“Fuck,” Dimmon growled, kicking at the corpse once Baylen was standing again. “False alarm, crew.”
Jeffrith kneeled in front of the man and lifted his head by the scruff of his hair. “It’s a human,” he mused, then let the head plop down hard onto the cobbles as he let go of him.
Baylen was coated in blood. I felt I was going to be sick, bile rising in the back of my throat. Baylen had just killed a man—the wrong target—simply forlookinglike the alleged cloaked vampire we were searching for.
I stuffed my dagger away at my belt as a wave of nausea passed over me.
“Hey, look at this though, eh?” Jeffrith said as Diplomats started to turn around in shame. A few of them stopped at the sound of his voice.
Jeffrith reached into the man’s tunic and came out holding a bulging sack that jangled when he lifted it up for everyone to see. “Not a bad haul for a false alarm, eh, sir?” He shot Dimmon a small smirk.
Color drained from my cheeks. I glanced over at Baylen, whose eyes were wide in shock. I knew, and hoped for the sake of his soul, he was stunned at what he’d just done . . . and what Jeffrith was implying.
Dimmon grunted to himself and nodded. He glanced up at the sky. “Come on, lads and ladies. Sun’ll be up soon. Let’s get back home.” He inclined his chin to Baylen as he passed us, notso much as giving my friend a glance as he said, “Nice work, boy.”
Nice work?Fury filled my veins.We just killed an innocent man, based on a whisper of a rumor, and now we’re robbing his corpse!
My first night with the Diplomats had gone exactly as I feared it might.
The gang slept for most of the day after the events of the early morning. We never found Layson and never heard from him again. He was gone—vanished or stolen like he’d never existed at all.
