Page 22 of A City of Smoke and Demons
He peered inside. ‘Sugar? Fancy. And the other bag? Please tell me I can drink it?’
‘Clothes, for Analise,’ Jem said, tucking the bag beneath his arm. He lowered his voice to a whisper. ‘Care to explain how you took a death witch home from a pub?’
‘I didn’t know,’ Ezra murmured, easing himself onto the bottom step, cradling the bag of food. He hadn’t slept a wink.Ten minutes after he’d taken himself up the stairs, Analise pounded on the door. There was a mummified rat hiding under the lounge cushion, she’d claimed, then, cheeks red, threatened to kill him if he snored.
Ezra rubbed his eyes. He could still feel the blazing heat of her skin. He couldn’t think properly and wasn’t sure what time, or day, it was but Jem was dressed for work, uniform immaculate, as always. Sometimes, Ezra missed that uniform. Other times, the thought of putting it on again made him want to vomit. He’d never intended on joining the Gendarme. Most of the men were the sons of money, born with a silver spoon up their arses. The second sons, the rebels, and the misfits—those bordering on delinquency. Jem didn’t fit into any of those categories, but he liked rules and order, so the Gendarme suited him, gave him purpose. It gave Ezra purpose, as well. The training, the discipline, the routine of it all—he’d enjoyed it. He needed it at the time, and let it become his world. His instincts were sharp, and he worked hard, but once they found out he could see magic, everything changed.
In the Unseen, they were taught a death witch was a dangerous woman. Death magic scared people—deathscared people. But with fear came fascination, and in a world where life was short for most, no one escaped the touch of death. Forcing the witches to be registered removed some of the mystery that surrounded them and their magic, creating a commodity to be capitalised. In controlling them, the Crown sought to control death, which was impossible.
Analise had hidden what she was, and as far as Ezra knew, that shouldn’t be possible either.
Jem hesitated. ‘I’ve been thinking—’
‘Remember what happened the last time you did that?’
The corner of Jem’s mouth lifted. ‘The Order doesn’t take new members unless they have a family connection, but I’d liketo make an exception for you. Although, considering you didn’t realise your latest conquest was a death witch, maybe I should reconsider.’
Ezra pulled a face. ‘First, I’ve got a feeling I was her conquest, and second, you want me to join your cult?’
The half-smile fell away from Jem’s face. ‘Can you take this seriously, please? You can see Familiars, Ezra, and you can see magic. You can use your fists, you can use a weapon, and you need to get your life back. I’m offering you that.’
Ezra’s hands tightened on the bag. Jem was right, he did need his life back but he wasn’t sure what he wanted that life to look like. Trusting someone else with his future was not an attractive proposition, because the last time he’d done that, he’d been stabbed in the back. Working for Maddog was the safer option; Ezra didn’t trust Maddog, and there was less chance of being fucked over if he never let his guard down.
But he trusted Jem like a brother, so rather than a flat refusal, Ezra shot him a cocky grin. ‘And leave someone else with the job of looking after this one?’ He gestured up the stairs.
‘You slept with her? Again?’ Jem groaned.
‘We shared a bed, that’s all, I promise. She’s rude and bad-tempered and—’
‘And you like her. I know you, remember? She’s dangerous, and you like danger.’
Ezra’s stomach tightened, but he shook his head, keeping his voice low. ‘Why does the Order need her?’
He’d gone over it last night, while he lay there staring at the ceiling with a sleeping Analise curled up against him, and came to no conclusion as to why the Church—or Jem’s cult—would need a death witch.
When the Unseen were first ordered to bring the witches in, Ezra didn’t see the problem, and it took the death of someoneimportant to make him stop. He’d made a promise never to do it again.
Yet here he was, having used his talent, his skill—whatever it was—to rip a woman from her life. His only consolation was that she hadn’t been hung, and it was his trust in Jem that had made him agree to this in the first place.
Footsteps headed towards them. Ezra stared straight ahead so he couldn’t watch Analise descend the stairs. She pushed past him and vanished into the kitchen. Moments later, her shout echoed through the house. Ezra and Jem raced into the room to find her dumping an opium pipe into the sink. She turned accusatory eyes on Ezra, looking disgusted.
‘It’s not mine,’ he objected, but a little bit of opium might make this situation more bearable.
‘I hate opium,’ Analise declared. ‘How long am I to be imprisoned?’
‘Imprisoned is a strong word,’ Ezra protested. ‘I prefer, “kept against your will for your own safety.”’
She glared at him. ‘Same thing. And my safety is none of your concern.’ She shook back her messy hair and turned to Jem. ‘Well?’
The look on Jem’s face said that today was not the day Analise would learn that demons, or those that hunted them, existed. ‘Until we find the man following you, I’m going to insist you stay here.’ He adjusted his coat. ‘It’s my job to keep you safe. Or, it’s Ezra’s.’
Analise folded her arms.
Ezra flashed a smile. ‘I sometimes help the Gendarme out. Looks like you’re stuck with me, sweetheart. Just don’t steal the blankets again, alright?’
Analise huffed an irritated sigh. ‘Fine. If you don’t want me to kill you in your sleep, keep your hands where I can see them, and you get to keep all your fingers.’ She took a step closer to him,brown eyes as hard as chips of glass. ‘I know an old woman who makes regular use of the body snatchers. She has a preference for fingers—she’d like yours.’
‘If I remember correctly, you liked them,’ Ezra said, leaning towards her.
