“No,” said Kell dryly, striding past him. “She’s one of a kind.”
Lila winked at that. She was holding a small chest between her hands, but when Ned offered to take it from her, she pulled back, setting it instead on the table, one hand resting protectively on its lid.
Master Kell was making a circle of the room, as if looking for intruders, and Ned started, remembering his manners.
“What can I do for you?” he asked. “Have you come for a drink? I mean, of course you haven’t just come for a drink, unless you have, and then I’m truly flattered, but …”
Lila made a decidedly unladylike noise, and Kell shot her a look before offering Ned a tired smile. “No, we haven’t come for a drink, but perhaps you’d better pour one.”
Ned nodded, ducking behind the bar to fetch a bottle.
“Bit gloomy, isn’t it?” mused Lila, taking a slow turn.
Kell took in the shuttered windows, the spell book and the ash-strewn floor. “What’s happened here?”
Ned needed no further encouragement. He launched into the story of the nightmares and the shadows and the voices in his head, and to his surprise, the two magicians listened, their drinks untouched, his own glass emptying twice before the tale was done.
“I know it sounds like lunacy,” he finished, “but—”
“But it doesn’t,” said Kell.
Ned’s eyes widened. “Did you see the shadows too, sir? What were they? Some kind of echo? It was dark magic, I’ll tell you that. I did everything I could here, blockaded the pub, burned every bit of sage and tried a dozen different ways to clear the air, but they just kept coming. Until they stopped, quick as you like. But what if they come again, Master Kell? What am I to do?”
“They won’t come again,” said Kell. “Not if I have your help.”
Ned started, certain he’d misheard. He’d dreamed a hundred times of this moment, of being wanted, being needed. But it was a dream. He always woke up. Beneath the counter’s edge, he pinched himself hard, and didn’t wake.
Ned swallowed. “My help?”
And Kell nodded. “The thing is, Ned,” he said, eyes trailing to the chest on the table. “I’ve come to ask a favor.”
*
Lila, for one, thought it was a bad idea.
Admittedly, she thought anything involving the Inheritor was a bad idea. As far as she was concerned, the thing should be sealed in stone and locked inside a chest and dropped down a hole to the center of the earth. Instead, it was sealed in stone and locked inside a chest and brought here, to a tavern in the middle of a city without magic.
Entrusted to a man, this man, who looked a bit like a pigeon, with his large eyes and his flitting movements. The strange thing was, he reminded her a little of Lenos—the nervous air, the fawning looks, even if they were geared at Kell instead of her. He seemed to teeter on the line between wonder and fear. She watched as Kell explained the chest’s contents, not entirely, but enough—which was probably too much. Watched as this Ned fellow nodded so fast his head looked hinged, eyes round as a child’s. Watched as the two carried the chest down into the cellar.
They would bury it there.
She left them to it, drifting through the tavern, feeling the familiar creak of boards under her feet. She scuffed her boot on a small, smooth patch of black, the same suspicious slick that lingered in the streets of Red London, places where magic had rotted through. Even with Osaron gone, the damage stayed done. Not everything, it seemed, could be fixed with a spell.
In the hall, she found the narrow stairs that led up to a landing, then up again to the small green door. Her feet moved without her, climbing the worn steps one by one until she reached Barron’s room. The door stood ajar, giving way to a space that was no longer his. She averted her gaze, unsure if she would ever be ready to see it, and continued up, Kell’s voice fading by the time she reached the top. Beyond the small green door, her room sat untouched. Part of the floor was dark, but not smooth, the faintest trace of fingers in the ruddy stain where Barron had died.
She crouched, brought her hand to the marks. A drop of water hit the floor, like the first sign of a London rainfall. Lila wiped her cheek brusquely and stood up.
Scattered across the floor, like tarnished stars, were beads of shot from Barron’s gun. Her fingers twitched, the magic humming in her blood, and the metal rose into the air, drawing together like a blast rewound until the beads gathered, fused, formed a single sphere of steel that fell into her outstretched palm. Lila slipped the ball into her pocket, savoring the weight as she went downstairs.
They were back in the tavern, Ned and Kell, Ned chattering and Kell listening indulgently, though she could see the strain in his eyes, the fatigue. He hadn’t been well, not since the battle and the ring, and he was a fool if he thought she hadn’t noticed. But she didn’t say anything, and when their eyes met, the strain faded, replaced by something gentle, warm.
Lila drew her fingertips along a wooden tabletop, the surface branded with a five-point star. “Why did you change the name?”
Ned’s head swiveled toward her, and she realized it was the first time she’d spoken to him.
“It was just a thought,” he said, “but you know, I’ve had the worst luck since I did it, so I’m thinking it’s a sign I should change it back.”
Lila shrugged. “It doesn’t matter what you call it.”
Ned was squinting at her now, as if she were out of focus.
“Have we met?” he asked, and she shook her head, even though she’d seen him in this place a dozen times, back when it was called the Stone’s Throw, back when Barron had been the one behind the bar, serving watered-down drinks to men seeking a taste of magic, back when she came and went like a ghost.
“If your king comes around again,” Kell was saying, “you give him this letter. My king would like him to know that it will be the last….”
Lila slipped out the front door and into the grey day. She looked up at the sign over the entrance, the dark clouds beyond, threatening rain.
The city always looked drab this time of year, but it looked even bleaker now that she had come to know Red London and the world that surrounded it.
Lila tipped her head back against the cool bricks, and heard Barron as if he were standing there beside her, a cigar between his lips.
“Always looking for trouble.”
“What’s life without a little trouble?” she said softly.
“Gonna keep looking till you find it.”
“I’m sorry it found you.”
“Do you miss me?” His gravelly tone seemed to linger in the air.
“Like an itch,” she murmured.
She felt Kell come up beside her, felt him trying to decide if he should touch her arm or give her space. In the end, he hovered there, half a step behind.
“Are you sure about him?” she asked.
“I am,” he said, his voice so steady she wanted to lean against it. “Ned’s a good man.”
“He’d cut off a hand to make you happy.”
“He believes in magic.”
“And you don’t think he’ll try to use it?”
“He’ll never get the box open, and even if he did, no. I don’t think he will.”
“Why’s that?”
“Because I asked him not to.”
Lila snorted. Even after all they’d seen and done, Kell still had faith in people. She hoped, for all their sakes, he was right. Just this once.
All around them, carriages clattered and people jogged and strolled and stumbled by. She’d forgotten the simple solidity of this city, this world.
“We could stay awhile, if you want?” offered Kell.
She took a long breath, the air on her tongue stale and full of soot instead of magic. There was nothing for her here, not anymore.
“No.” She shook her head, reaching for his hand. “Let’s go home.”
IV