The apartment was functional. Clean, tidy. Minimalist. And about five times the size of my box. As I roamed, I found nothing personal. Unless a small fish bowl with one lonely fish bobbing inside could be categorized as personal. It and its fish, however, were worth a fortune in water. I snorted at the extravagance. What kind of archaic fool keeps a fish in a bowl filled with priceless water?
The space looked like a show apartment or a hotel room. He didn’t spend much time here. Or perhaps this was where he brought all his women before… whatever guys like him did out in the blackness of space. No, that wasn’t fair. Was the marshal dangerous? Yes. I’d seen how dangerous he could be. But, so far, he had only shown me kindness. He clearly wanted something from me. How would he react when he didn’t get it?
I reached the counter after giving myself the tour and picked up the drink. “Nice place. Must have cost a pretty amount?”
He leaned a hip against his side of the counter and didn’t reply.
“Not bad, for a marshal.” The drink tasted like water with a touch of lime. It wasn’t water, but it was damn close. How could a Calicto lawman afford all this?
“I wasn’t always a marshal,” he admitted. “That’s a… new career.” He picked up his drink and headed toward the couches. Without his coat hiding his outline, I studied the confident way he moved. Broad shoulders carried a man who didn’t know how to hesitate. No wasted gestures. No wrong step. It helped that he had an easy stride and a tight ass I would have liked to admire for a lot longer than the minute he gave me as he reached into a panel in the wall and revealed a slim personal interface screen.
A seat emerged from the wall. He settled into it. “There’s a shower out back and a private bedroom. Make yourself comfortable. I have reports to file, then I’ll ask you some questions and you’re going to answer them.”
He didn’t look up, just sipped his drink and tapped away on the PI screen. If he believed it would be that easy, he had the wrong girl. But I’d take advantage of his hospitality. After downing my drink, I headed for the back rooms.
“Kesh?” My name on his lips pulled on an invisible string, bringing me up short. When I looked back, the marshal rubbed a hand across his chin, carefully measuring his next words. “You’re safe here.”
Safe.
Safe was an interesting concept. In this place, in this system, I wasn’t safe. Safe was a refuge inside my mind. Safety wasn’t something anyone could give me, but it was a nice idea. “Whatever you say, Marshal.”
I left the room and heard him say, “Call me Kellee. Can you at least do that?”
Blood dripped from my fingers and pattered against the dusty ground. Falling like the rain. Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. Dampness on glistening leaves and on my tongue too. Wetness and blood. But not my blood.
A fluttering sounded to my right, buzzing in my ear. The curious pixie hissed close, stirring my matted strings of hair. I bared my teeth at its twinkling light and the creature darted off. Like the pixie, but from somewhere far away, I was observed by curious fae. They looked down on me, untouchable, like gods.
Other pulsing lights danced in the dark. I ignored them and listened hard. Listened to the rapid beat of my heart, to my blood pumping through my veins, filling me up, making me something more.
Movement shifted to my right. I didn’t hear it so much as feel it. Inside—in what they called the animal part of me—I knew I was no longer alone. My slick fingers curled tighter around my knife’s oak handle.
I imagined I heard those watching, imagined they chanted my name. They knew what was coming. They loved me for it. And somewhere inside, deeper than the hate, deeper than the injustice, I loved them too.
Eyes glistened in the dark. Human eyes, gently sloped. Aeon. And in his hand, an oak-handled knife shone. Just like mine.
I blinked awake. There one moment, here the next. My heart hammered against my ribs, trying to break free. The dream would leave me soon, but while it had its claws in me, I couldn’t move. Didn’t dare. The pitter-patter of rain on thick, fat leaves beat against my thoughts. The wetness still hung in the air. So much water it fell from the sky. As did the blood.
And Aeon.
I shoved from the bed too fast, almost staggering over my own feet. Whose bed is this? Where in the three systems am I?
The walls, the floor, the bed, the smell—like warm, spicy male cologne. Where the… I pressed a hand to my head, squeezing out the past, making room for the present. The shuttle, the authorities, the marshal, the station, the assassination, the fae.
I am Kesh Lasota.
Messenger.
Tek-whisperer.
I am invisible.
Kesh Lasota. Right. And this room… This was the marshal’s place. I’d lain down, just for a few minutes to rest my eyes. How long had I slept? A weary weight had settled in my bones, now replaced by stiffness. I’d slept for hours, not minutes. Dammit. Sota may not have hours.
I headed for the door and paused, realizing I was barely dressed. Tossing on my outer garments—self-cleaned and patched up while I’d rested—I strode out into the living area, expecting to find Kellee where I’d left him, monitoring his screen. The ambient light had softened, indicating resting hours, but there was no sign of the marshal. My coat lay on the back of the couch. The marshal’s was missing.
Throwing my coat on, I turned, considered heading for the main door and spotted the glimmer of Kellee’s personal entertainment screen extended from the wall. Leaving it open and unattended? He wasn’t used to having company. As I sat behind it and swept my hands across the semi-transparent interface, it also became clear that the marshal hadn’t set up his console for someone of my talents. My fingertips tingled, and at my hip, my whip warmed, sensing my latent magic coming to life.
I sidestepped the marshal’s woefully inadequate security measures. His PI opened like a flower, revealing everything the marshal had been working on while I’d been sleeping, which was apparently me.
A blurry image flicked across the screen. A figure caught in motion crossing a plaza. Around the person, people were frozen statues, their images encased in electronic ice. The figure was a ghost. But to anyone who knew exactly what they were looking for: the gait, the coat, the hair. The figure was clearly me. The next slide showed a bounty issued on behalf of Crater’s organization. The v-coin payout had enough zeros to make coordinates jealous.
I looked up, over the screen, at the plush apartment with all its luxuries.
Of course.
I was another notch in Kellee’s bounty-hunting belt.
Crater’s men would likely descend at any second. Worse, Arcon might be about to latch a shuttle to the private dock.
Kellee had set me up. He wanted all the v-coin.
I shoved from the seat. I had to get out of the apartment and off the station.
The apartment door swung open, and the marshal sauntered in, white bag in hand. “Good, you’re up.” He dumped the bag on the counter. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
He was at ease, comfortable in his own home and his deception. I’d seen him fight. He was fast, brutal, and efficient, but only when he saw the strike coming. Right now, he was vulnerable.
My whip hummed gently against my thigh.
“I brought you lunch,” he chattered. “When did you last eat? Must have been a while ago…”
I sauntered toward the counter, catching a whiff of something sweet and spicy. My mouth watered. There would be time to eat once I had the marshal subdued and piloting the shuttle away from here. “Suteran food?” I asked.
“It is.” He seemed surprised and distracted as he collected a couple of plates. “You’ve eaten Suteran before? It’s rare around these parts. I hear they can’t give it away near the debris zone. I’ve often thought about flying out there just to see if it’s true.”
I eased my hand inside my coat.
“Why haven’t you?” I asked, keeping up the easy conversation.
His eyes flicked up. He reached for the bag.
Power surged up my arm, licking over the whip’s tek and charging it with lethal force. The length of the whip flew upward, aglow with magic.