Helena straightened and glanced at Karmash. The big man yanked the captive to his feet, slid his arms under the man’s stick arms, and locked his hands on the back of the man’s head, jerking him up, off the ground.
“Hey, hey, hey!” The man squirmed in Karmash’s grip. “Come on.”
Helena pulled off her glove, unfastened her cloak, and let it fall. Behind her, Mura, dark-haired, sharp and narrow, like the blade of a dagger, took a step and caught the living fabric before it hit the ground. The cloak shimmered, turning an unhealthy shade of orange, straining to duplicate Mura’s magic-altered skin.
Helena stood before the man. She wore supple leather and dark cloth. A leather belt clasped her tunic to her waist, together with custom-made sheaths which held her two curved swords. She pulled a black knife from her waist and took a step toward the addict.
The captive stared down at her. “What, you’re going to work me over now? What for? I’m trying to make a deal here.”
She arched her narrow eyebrows. “I don’t do deals.” She pinched the thin fabric of his shirt and sliced it open, baring his bony chest.
“Listen, you’re making a mistake here. You’ll waste all your time and energy with me, and for what? Just give me my little piece of the pie, and I’ll tell you everything.
Helena pulled back her sleeve and showed him the blue fang etched into her muscular forearm. “I’m a Hound of the Golden Throne. Do you know what that is?”
She could tell by his face that he had no idea. “Do you know that the Dukedom of Louisiana is a colony of the Greater Empire of Gaul?”
He nodded. “Sure.”
“When the throne of Gaul wishes to slice open a boil, it calls upon me. I don’t make deals. I don’t bargain. I don’t spare. I destroy for the glory of my country. Look into my eyes, sirrah.”
He stared into her blue-green irises. She looked at him the way a tiger looks at her prey until she saw the first shiver of fear in his face.
“Tell me if you see any mercy.” Her magic rose around her, like a smoky cloak of darkness.
The addict froze like a frightened bird. Finally, she had his attention.
Helena bowed her head for a brief second, her eyes closed. “I’m a Hound of the Golden Throne. I have the right of judgment within the Empire of Gaul and all of its colonies, and I find you, Alex Callahan, guilty. You are an enemy of Gaul.”
Magic sparked. Karmash dropped Callahan, and the man blinked out of existence and reappeared twenty feet away. He hit the ground running and dashed down the path, squeezing every last drop of speed out of his worn-out body. Interesting power. More interesting was the fact that Karmash had sensed something amiss and acted to save himself rather than hold on to the prisoner.
Helena waved her fingers. Soma and Killian sprinted down the road after Callahan. In two breaths, the hunters overtook the running man. Killian crashed into the addict, pinning Callahan to the ground. The Edger’s nails clawed Killian’s arms and slid off harmlessly. Killian was one of her more enhanced hunters: his skin was thick like leather. Together, he and Soma jerked Callahan off the ground and carried him back.
“Nail him to the tree,” Helena said.
The two hunters yanked the Edger upright. Sebastian pulled two daggers from the sheath on his waist and stabbed both through the man’s shoulders, just under the collarbone. Callahan screamed, pinned to the oak like an insect.
Helena approached him, holding her knife. It was an excellent blade, razor-sharp and strong, like all of her tools, human or otherwise. She flicked it across the Edger’s torso. The blade barely touched the pallid flesh, but its razor-sharp point painted a vivid line of red across the man’s skin.
“Help!” Alex screamed. “Help me! Help me!”
The knife flashed once, twice. She used to paint like this in her study: fast strokes of brilliant red paint across the pale canvas.
Alex screamed and buckled, but the knives held him tight.
“Betrayal is bought with agony. When you betray your partners, especially if these partners are family, you should do it only after much suffering. Flesh is weak. When the pain is too much, most people do break. The greater the betrayal, the more terrible the pain the captive will endure.”
Helena slid the point of her knife into the first cut she’d made, hooked the skin, and jerked it down in a sharp move. Alex shrieked a desperate, pain-filled howl. Red muscle glistened bare on his chest. She was always an excellent skinner.
“Don’t worry. I will make sure that the pain you experience is equivalent to your betrayal.” Helena raised her left hand, still in the soft brown glove. “Salt.”
The vial of salt was deposited into her fingers.
“Now then. Let’s talk about your sister.”
JACK looked out the window. Outside, gray rain sifted onto a Broken town called Olympia. It was in the State of Washington, which was like a province but larger. Kaldar had stolen another car—this one was blue and smelled of some bitter fake-pine scent—and Jack got the front seat this time. The view from the window was wet and dreary.
“Does the sun ever shine here?”
“Sometimes,” Kaldar said. “If you wait for a few hours and squint just right.”
In the backseat, George shifted around. They both wore plain brown shirts and loose pants. They still didn’t look like they belonged in the Broken, but at least it was an improvement over George’s poofy shirts, Jack decided.