Page 4 of The Dagger and the Flame
Happy Saintsmas, my little firefly.Mama’s brown eyes were tired, but her smile was bright.
Seraphine had been half asleep, desperately foraging in the cupboards for something to stave off her hangover. The previous night had seen far too much celebrating – wine, and lots of it. The unexpectedness of Mama’s gift had surprised her. They had agreed on no presents this year, and Mama was not a sentimental sort. She valued knowledge over trinkets, and over the years, had filled Seraphine’s bedroom not with pretty clothes or fancy jewellery, but with books and maps – sketches of the world far beyond Fantome. But the necklace – this necklace – was different. That morning, Mama had been different.Wear this always and think of me, she’d said, almost pleadingly.May it protect you when I cannot, Sera.
That day had come far sooner than either of them had guessed. Save for the smoke in her hair and the dog at her feet, the tiny golden teardrop was all Sera had left of Mama and their little farmhouse. A paltry flame in a world of sudden darkness. The loss made her want to scream.
Suddenly, Pippin growled. Sera looked up, to the roof of the Marlowe, the oldest museum in Fantome, in all of Valterre. It seemed taller tonight, darker.
‘It’s only a gargoyle, Pip,’ she said, but the back of her neck was prickling. A shadow rippled near the clock tower and she swore she glimpsed a figure there, gilded in moonlight. It was gone as quickly as it came.
She had lingered too long. Tall buildings meant long shadows, and in Fantome, shadows were dangerous. Anything could be hiding inside them. Anyone. Including the Dagger who had killed Mama.
Chapter 2Seraphine
In the distance, the Aurore Tower stood like a proud candle casting its flickering light over the city. It was not wise to stray too far from its glare, but the glow of the Aurore never reached the Hollows, a murky pocket of east Fantome where the wretched and the forgotten made their home: thieves and troublemakers, beggars and brutes, creeps and carousers, and the orphans and runaways who came looking for a better life.
For there was magic there, too.
And, with any luck, Pippin’s keen nose would lead them to it. Sera ran faster.
As the clock tower chimed one, Mama’s voice rang in her head.If anything ever happens to me, you must get to House Armand. Brave the Hollows and run until the streetlamps wink out. Pippin will show you the way.
But Pippin had stopped to inspect a leaf.
Sera used to wonder why Mama had so readily taken in the trembling three-legged mutt five years ago. She was far from being a dog person. Or a people person, for that matter. And back then, the poor mite was so easily frightened that he barked at his own shadow. But Mama knew before his accident Pippin had been a tracker. He had a nose for magic. And a knack for survival.
Seraphine wondered now if Mama had foreseen her own grisly murder. Sylvie Marchant was neither Cloak nor Dagger, but for years, she had worked as a Shade smuggler alongside the guilds, trading magic for coin, and in doing so, dwelling in the murky haze between good and evil. All to provide a better life for Sera.
Shade was as scarce as it was dangerous. Sniffed out by tracking dogs far beyond the city, it was bought by seasoned smugglers like Sylvie Marchant, who knew precisely how to mix it, and then sold on to the few who knew how to use it without succumbing to it: the Daggers and the Cloaks. Sera always secretly feared the underworld would turn on them. After all, what honour was there among thieves and assassins?
But why now?The question nagged at Sera.And why the fire?
Perhaps Mama always knew that one day their world would go up in flames, and Pippin would be all Sera had left. Maybe that was why she hosed him down and put a bow around his neck five years ago, presenting him to Sera like he was the second coming of Saint Oriel.
Sera had adored him instantly.
She clicked her teeth now, shooing him along. The sightof his burnt tail wagging as he led her through the deserted streets filled her heart with so much love it felt like pain. His little legs quickened as they neared the Hollows, the scent of Shade getting stronger.
Tucked away in the far reaches of the Hollows, House Armand was home to the clandestine Order of Cloaks. The great thieves of Fantome were always seeking to recruit lost souls tempted by the security of a comfortable home and the lure of magic, the chance to make something of themselves.
Tonight, the Cloaks were in luck. Sera was about to deliver them a fresh recruit and the cutest mutt this side of the Verne. All she had to do was remain in possession of her courage long enough to get there.
Don’t stop. Don’t think.
She kept a wary eye on the shadows as they ventured deeper into the Hollows. Seedy taverns and dilapidated theatres huddled along narrow streets that were strewn with broken bottles and other detritus, the well-worn cobblestones cracked and stained with vomit. Sera reminded herself that this was not Dagger territory, but she couldn’t shake the sense that she was being followed.
That he was out there somewhere, watching her.
Pippin halted, a growl rumbling in his throat. His gaze darted from the roof of a nearby boarding house to the dimly lit brothel beside it. Sera gripped the rusty blade in her pocket as a shiver spider-walked her spine. She wished she had brought something sharper, but almost everything had been burning. She’d had to settle for Mama’s small garden shears.
Pippin barked at a flitting shadow.
Sera brandished the shears. ‘Come out and face me!’
The air trilled with distant laughter. At the end of the street, three women stumbled out of a busy tavern. A dishevelled man hobbled past, his brown eyes tired.
Not a Dagger.
Sera let out a breath, her cheeks heating with embarrassment.
