Page 3 of A City of Smoke and Demons
There was a sharp handsomeness about Maddog Pierce. Thin lips under an aquiline nose, his beard trimmed and neat. He was an immaculate dresser, clothes always pressed and starched. No one would dare relieve Maddog of his pocket watch—or anything.
Ezra knew he was being used, but what was the alternative? Maddog hated the Gendarme anywhere near his turf, which was probably one of the reasons he hadn’t handed Ezra over. Sheltering the Crown’s most wanted under his crooked wing was Maddog’s way of shoving a knife between the ribs of the aristocracy and everything they stood for.
‘Fine,’ Ezra said. ‘I’ll win you your fight.’
‘Yes, you will, and you won’t question me again. When I tell you to do something, you do it, understand? It’s been nearly a year since you showed up on my doorstep, hasn’t it? Or have I got that wrong, as well?’
Ezra’s fists clenched. ‘It’s been a year.’
A whole year of living dangerously.
‘Sedition,’ Maddog murmured. ‘It doesn’t bother me, of course.’
‘I don’t know what you’re talking about,’ Ezra tensed, sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.
‘Of course you don’t,’ Maddog chuckled. ‘Two nights. In the meantime, get some sleep—you look worse than my whore of a mother. I want a good show. It’s what the people pay for.’
Ezra rarely left the Canem Club, not free to wander the way he once did. He allowed the passing crowd to sweep him along, not sure where he was going. He kept his hat pulled low, covering his distinctive hair, as he followed people along Blackcoln Road before turning towards the wealthier districts.
Perhaps a quick look at his old neighbourhood would be enough to settle the strange restlessness that filled his blood when he woke. The streets opened into a paved square, the stones glowing, not one speck of horse shit in sight. On the far side was a troupe of acrobats and fire breathers. People gasped as a man in a tight red shirt blew a stream of flame into the air. Ezra watched a little thief slide her grubby hands into a well-dressed man’s pocket before moving on to a woman with a purse dangling from her shoulder. Those nimble fingers darted in, then out, and the girl slipped away. Shimmering white light followed her. Ezra’s heart sank. No, it was a trick of the light, nothing more.
Applause scattered through the watchers. A girl wearing leopard print like a second skin flipped her legs over her head, walking on her hands as a young boy cartwheeled expertly around her and coins tumbled into the top hat.
Ezra lost sight of the pickpocket. He pushed up onto his tiptoes so he was standing a head taller than the crowd. The child’s matted, blonde hair caught a ray of sun pushing through the clouds. She glanced over her skinny shoulder, eyes dark with mischief, then vanished into the nearest alley.
Ezra moved through the crowd like a shadow, steps quick, body liquid, as unnoticed as the thief he stalked. He closed in on the alley, pausing to wipe his sweaty palms on his trousers and adjust his collar.
The back of his neck tingled. On the brickwork was the unmistakable smear of magic the size of a young girl’s hand. Ezra swallowed. If he could talk to her before the Gendarme arrived, maybe he could save her, or tell her to run at the least.
At the mouth of the alley, he took a deep breath.
The child was hidden in the shadows. Magic floated through the air around her like a shimmering cloak.
‘I’m not going to hurt you.’ Ezra kept his voice low, and gave a small, reassuring smile as he entered the alley. ‘You can come out.’
No response.
‘Where’s your mother?’
A brittle whisper. ‘Dead.’
The answer hit him like a punch. ‘Do you have any—’
‘There she is!’
Ezra cursed under his breath, and threw himself into the shadows as a big man stepped into the alley.
Tobias Marth, newly minted Captain of the Gendarme, going by his fancy badge. He paused, licking his lips, brushing his hands over the gold buttons on his black coat. The royal sigil was visible on his lapel.
Tobias stroked his moustache. ‘Come out, come out, little mouse.’
The child whimpered, pushing herself further into the darkness. Her eyes darted to where Ezra was hiding, and he willed her to look away. He couldn’t believe he’d been so fucking stupid to come here in the first place, then to try and help an unregistered death witch.
A sticky-fingered scrap of a girl was nothing, compared to him.
The ache in his hands wouldn’t stop him fighting his way out of this alley. His fingers brushed the blade tucked against his hip. There was another in his boot. He wasn’t bullet-proof, though.
Tobias frowned, then motioned behind him. Ezra’s stomach clenched when a man with blond hair and bright blue eyes came into view. Jonas Sanderson. One of the best witch-hounds they had; now, anyway.
