William swung the door open and remembered to hold it for Cerise. The inside of the store was cool and dim. A long counter sliced the floor in half, offering a variety of knives, gator leathers, belts, and assorted junk. A man sat behind the counter next to a large crossbow.
William glanced at him, evaluating. In his early forties, lean, probably still fast. Skin like a walnut—weathertanned and lined. Hair, once black, now neither here nor there, worn on the longer side. Hooded dark eyes.
Their stares met. “What can I do you for?” the man asked.
“Looking for Zeke,” William said.
“I’m Zeke. What are you and your lady looking for?”
Cerise turned to him. “Hi, Zeke.”
Zeke flinched.
It lasted half a second, a mere flicker across the man’s face, but William caught it: eyebrows raised, eyes wide, lips stretched back. That was the one human expression he was very familiar with—fear. Zeke Wallace was afraid of Cerise.
The man recovered fast, in the same breath. “Hello, Ms. Mar. And how are you this fine evening?”
“Good, thank you.” She wandered down the counter looking at the knickknacks.
William raised the fish head. “I need this stuffed.”
Zeke looked at the head. “That’s a Gospo Adir eel.”
Cerise grimaced. “Yes, and he’s very proud of killing it.”
“The Sect won’t like it,” Zeke said.
“Can you do it or not?” William let some growl into his voice.
Zeke frowned. “Fish mount is a tricky thing. You have to scrape the meat out from the cheeks and skull and then soak the thing in alcohol to get the rest of the meat to harden. I don’t do them, but my nephew, Cole, has done some on occasion.”
“If it’s a question of money, I have it.” William pulled one of the Mirror’s coins from his pocket and tossed it to Zeke. It looked just like a normal coin, except for the engraving of the Adrianglian lion. The lion on the real coins had three claws, not four.
Zeke snapped the coin out of the air and looked at it. “Right. Well, you know what they say—money fixes everything. Like I mentioned, fish mounts are tricky, and there’s a couple of ways to do them. I’ve got some samples in the back. If you pick out what you want, we can talk price.”
He headed to a small door. William followed. They went into the back room and Zeke shut the door.
“I expected you yesterday,” he whispered.
“We ran into some sharks,” William said.
Zeke grimaced. “Figured it had to be something like that. That’s Cerise Mar out there. I about broke my head trying to think up a way to get you close to the Mars, and you walk into my store side by side with her like you’re bosom buddies.”
William sat on the edge of a table. “What’s the story with her family?”
“They’re swampers—native Edgers. A big family, very old, land rich, money poor. They’ve got themselves a family house out in the swamp. People call them Rats behind their back, because there’s so damn many of them and they’re poor and mean. The Mars aren’t afraid of blood or lock-up, and they hold a grudge like it was their family treasure.”
Zeke glanced at the main floor through a peephole in the door. “The Mars are feuding with their neighbors, the Sheeriles. The Sheerile family isn’t that big—mother and three sons, but they’ve got money and use a lot of hired muscle. The old woman runs the whole thing, jerks her sons around like puppets on a string. Rumor has it, Gustave Mar and his wife, Gen, disappeared a few days ago and the Sheeriles were involved. That’s a hard trick to pull off. Both the Mars and the Sheeriles are Legion families.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means they have old magic,” Zeke said. “The families take root from the ancient Legion marooned centuries ago in the swamps. The Sheeriles would’ve needed help to take Gustave alive. Lagar Sheerile is very good with his blade, but Gustave is one mean sonovabitch. His daughter is of the same stock—if you get in trouble with her, don’t count on any mercy. A guy on the Sheeriles’ payroll says the Hand was involved in the whole thing.” Zeke frowned. “She’s getting impatient.”
Things were clearer but not by much. “Anything else?”
“That’s all I’ve got. If I need to reach you, where will you be?”
“In her house.”
Zeke’s eyebrows crept up. “You got invited to the Rathole? You must be a miracle worker.”
William hid a smile. Sure, he was.
Zeke pulled the door open. “Pleasure doing business with you.”
“It’s all yours,” William growled.
Cerise looked up from the counter. “Are you done?”
“Yes.” William nodded.
“Zeke, can we use your back door?”
“Sure thing,” Zeke said.
A moment later they were outside, and William inhaled the scents of the swamp town swirling around him.
“Took you for everything you had?” Cerise’s eyes laughed at him.
“I held my own.”
“Sure you did.” The back of the shop faced the Mire, and Cerise headed straight for it. “Our ride is this way.”
“We have a ride?”
“My cousin,” she said. “Come on, Lord Bill. We’ve kept him waiting long enough already.”
“GENEVIEVE . . .”
The soft insistent voice reached through the fog clouding her mind and tugged on her, demanding attention.
“Genevieve ...”
Slowly Gen opened her eyes to the blurry world wrapped in a shroud of light too bright for her dilated pupils. The pain came slowly, from some dark well within her. It built on itself, growing dense and heavy. Hot claws ripped into her insides, and the world reeled and shuddered. A face blocked her view. It seemed ridiculously large, bigger than her, bigger than the room, darker than light.
“Can you hear me, Gen?”
“Yes,” she whispered through the tortured tempo of her breathing. She knew this voice. She knew it very well.
“Your daughter, Cerise, went to the Broken and came back. Why would she do that? Tell me.” A hand stroked her hair, and the voice came again, gentle, friendly, caring. “I know you’re tired. Tell me why Cerise went to the Broken, and I’ll let you rest. Come on, darling.”