It was a fine, mild evening in Octaver, the month of the Hunter’s Moon. Kal strolled along, pockets heavy with contraband. Perfume vials clinked against the miniature bottles of peach brandy the girls liked since they were easy to hide in school bags. She’d gotten quicker at these runs now that she knew exactly where to go for each item.
Her peacoat concealed the Lenormand School uniform of skirt and leggings. A few weeks of rest and good food had transformed her from the ragged, starving creature who had first arrived in Arjevica. No one looked at her twice.
After stopping at the confectioner’s, she crossed off the last item on the list—dried apricots dipped in chocolate for Savina Agafia. Best get back over the wall before anyone noticed her missing.
Yet her footsteps dragged as she neared the school. She was tired of the same routine every day. A healthy breakfast of porridge and fruit, then hair and makeup classes, then a brisk walk around the sports field for exercise, then skincare and brow sculpting, then a healthy lunch, more classes, a bloody healthy dinner, studying for quizzes, and lights out.
So far, she’d bought nothing for herself, but she deserved a reward.
Kal paused before a shop window with rows of bottles that glowed amber in the lamplight. The sign above the door read Falin’s Fine Spirits in gilded script. She’d been in there earlier, picking up a few things for her clients. It was almost midnight. On impulse, she pushed open the door, triggering a bell.
“Just about to close,” the shopkeeper said.
“I’ll be quick.” Kal tried to smooth out her Pota Pras accent. “A small bottle of starka, please. Whatever brand is cheapest.”
He rang it up. Kal paid from her profits and slipped out the door. She never drank at school, but a taste wouldn’t hurt. She’d earned it.
“This is how it starts,” Durian said, limping along at her elbow. “One sip of starka and next thing you know, you’re passed out in an alley getting your pockets turned out by larcenous orphans.”
“Oh, please,” she muttered, unscrewing the cap. “There are no orphans around here.”
Kal took a sip. It tasted like caramel and vanilla and dark summer plums, with a nice mellow afterburn.
“Speaking of bad ideas,” Durian said, “remember when you tried to convince me to swim across that flooded wadi?”
“And I was right. There was a vein of argentite on the other side.” She took another swig, wincing. Durian had balked and the Yun-Su sisters got there first. “If you hadn’t been such a coward, we could have staked it.”
“Bitch, you’re crazy. The current was too fast! We would have both drowned.”
“Then at least we’d be dead together.”
His voice turned somber. “Don’t say that.”
The starka softened the edges of her thoughts. She took another big glug and veered toward a park with a marble arch at the entrance. It was covered with graffiti. On impulse, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a tube of purple lipstick. Standing on tiptoe, she scrawled across the white marble: DURIAN LIVES
Kal stepped back to admire her handiwork. Something about seeing his name writ large made her chest ache less.
“You’re an idiot,” Durian said, but she could hear the smile.
“I miss you,” she whispered.
“I know.”
She raised the bottle in a toast. “To all your terrible ideas.”
A chill raised goosebumps along her arms—the same sensation she'd felt when the witches had tried to use lithomancy against her. She capped the starka, pulse leaping.
“Shit!” A blur of movement in the darkness resolved into a pair of long white coats. Kal looked around for a place to hide. Her own clothing was dark and she didn’t think they’d seen her yet.
After a moment, she darted to a dry fountain and crouched behind the rim. She could hear voices, but couldn’t make out the words. A quick peek confirmed that they’d stopped at the arch.
Triple shit!
The footsteps came closer, then halted a few paces away. The chill intensified, sliding across Kal’s skin like a gout of ice water. She gripped the pistol in her pocket. She never went anywhere without her Bluekiller, but she wouldn’t use it unless she had no other choice.
“Pardon me!” A new voice, male and slightly slurred. “Sorry, I didn’t see you there.”
“Watch where you’re going,” one of the witches snapped.
