Page 8 of Soothsayer

“We don’t get service down here, you know that,” Morris snapped.

“Then leave and check it outside.”

“No! I want to know what kind of racket you have going with the rent boy and the hick.”

“Now, now,” Roger said companionably. “Ain’t no need to fight about this, guys. We can all be civilized here, right?”

In response, Morris threw his drink across the table at both of us. “Fuck you!”

Most of the beer hit Roger, who calmly wiped his face and took off his broad-brimmed hat. “Not a nice thing to do, throw the drink a man bought you back in his face.”

Morris’s friends were starting to lean back in their chairs, finally cluing in to the fact that things were going to go very badly. I set my hat aside as well—I liked that hat, damn it—and took off my stained jacket and waistcoat.

“I don’t play nice with cheats!”

“Luck ain’t cheatin’, and you coulda stopped betting at any time.” Roger rolled up his sleeves.

“Fuck you, you cow-fucking hillbilly piece of—” Morris’s insult was cut short as Roger snapped his long legs up under the table and kicked it, and everything on it, into Morris and his friends’ faces. I heard Phin groan and get up from his chair at the door, and I stood up and shook out my arms as I picked my target. Two seconds later, bedlam broke out.

There was something cathartic about being in a brawl. A one-on-one fight could be nerve-racking?there was an element of ego that came into play and made things personal. In a brawl, though, it was just you in a press of people, striking who you could where you could, and my betting buddy was clearly an experienced brawler. He was trading punches with two different men, his grin bloody and bright on his face. Phin was doing his best to sort things out, but that only lasted until someone broke a glass against his head. Then he became a rage monster that would put the Hulk to shame.

And me? I preferred to be a little more vicious, less about trading blows and more about kneeing people in the crotch and then following them to the ground with punches, because I’d learned to fight from my mother and she’d had no compunctions about teaching me to go for the jewels. My blood was pumping, fists were flying; I was finally lost in the moment, and it felt gorgeous. We slid around on spilled alcohol and broken glass and generally had a delightful time until one of Morris’s buddies finally lost his temper and pulled a gun, aiming vaguely at where Roger was still gleefully tussling with a couple of guys. A second later, a shot went off.

A second after that, I fell down.

Chapter Five

It wasn’t the impact of the bullet that knocked me over. It was me trying to move too quickly on the slippery, glass-covered mess of a floor. My shoes were pretty things, but the tread had worn off years ago. The bullet hit my arm, I jerked and slid and wound up flat on my ass, and after that, well?things got a little hazy for a bit.

I’d never been shot before. I’d been beaten until I was nothing but red blood over purple bruises, burned more than once with the business end of a cigarette, and slashed with everything from chicken wire to bowie knives. I was well acquainted with the sight of my own blood. But being shot was novel, and I stared in surprise at the perfectly round hole in my shirt, just above and outside of my elbow, as it slowly changed from white to red. Gravity pulled the blood down, staining my sleeve like a perverse Rorschach blot. I just stared and ignored the sudden furor around me, people yelling and Phin bellowing like a bull. Ididn’t feel anything at all until long fingers turned my head and Roger’s blurry face swam into focus.

“Holy shit, you all right, boy?”

His words broke my fugue. Suddenly I could feel everything, and I was verynotall right. My arm burned like someone had shoved a branding iron through it, and ofcourseit had to be my dominant side.

“Not really,” I said through gritted teeth, clapping my free hand to the wound and then groaning at my own stupidity, because thathurt. “Fuck.”

“C’mon now, let me see it,” Roger said, reaching for my arm. I pulled away, and he looked at me sternly. “You’re gonna need medical attention one way or the other, Cillian, and this ain’t my first rodeo. Now let me see your arm.”

“What?” I still felt argumentative, but I did let go when his fingers prompted. “You’re a doctor and a cowboy now?”

“Not a doctor, no. I was a medic back in my army days, though.” He prodded the wound, and I hissed at him, but he ignored me. “Looks like it went clean through, but it’s not like you’ve got much flesh to spare. Lucky it missed the joint.”

“Yeah, lucky me. I feelsolucky,” I agreed sourly.

“You told me you were lucky earlier, Cillian. I’m minded to believe it, after what just happened. Or maybe you’re just lucky for me?that son of a bitch was trying to shoot me. I dunno how the bullet hit you instead.”

Phin appeared, bald and fierce and terrifying. His ruddy skin was smeared here and there with blood, and I didn’t even want to think about the state of his knuckles.

“He gonna live?”

“The bullet missed the major artery, but he should be checked out by a doctor,” Roger said as he casually shredded the other arm of my beautiful shirt and turned it into a makeshift bandage. “We need to get him to a hospital.”

“No hospitals; we can’t afford the questions,” Phin said. “And neither can he,” he added when Roger opened his mouth. “Gunshot wounds are too obvious. We can’t play this off as anything else, though, and it would be dangerous to let Cillian loose in a hospital anyway.” Phin got his shovel-like hands under my back. “Time to stand up, lad, y’ready?”

“Don’t I look ready?” I snarked, then whimpered as Phin hoisted me unceremoniously to my feet. My legs felt like they belonged to someone else, someone sick, because they trembled and swayed like I was coming down off of a bad trip.

“Dangerous how?” Roger demanded, getting under my good arm and helping to hold me up. “He couldn’t harm a fly, way he is right now.”

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