Relieved that it wasn’t Professor Lachlan, she opened the door to reveal Dakari on the other side. She looked up into his familiar face. “Is it time?”
“Not quite. I came to check your arm again.” Dakari had been with Professor Lachlan longer than any of them. The Professor had found him in an illegal fighting club more than twenty years ago. After he made his share of the pot by winning his fights, he’d charge his opponents for the privilege of being doctored by him, so they could go back to their lives without the bruises he’d left on their bodies.
It wasn’t work he would have otherwise chosen for himself, so when the Professor offered him a position, he took it. Part bodyguard, part healer, Dakari was over six feet of pure muscle, but when he smiled—and he often smiled at Esta—he looked exactly like the kind soul he was.
“It’s fine,” Esta said, not letting him into the room. He’d already checked it that morning anyway.
“Humor me.” He gave the door a gentle push and stepped into her room.
With a dramatic sigh, she unbuttoned the neckline of her dress enough to show him her shoulder. She’d taken off the bandage the day before, and now the wound from the bullet wasn’t anything more than a spot of new pink skin that would one day barely be a scar.
Dakari took her arm in his hands and pressed his thumb over the spot as he studied it with careful concentration. Her own skin wasn’t exactly pale, but his was darker. His palms were rough from years of fighting, but his magic came as a soft pulse, the warmth that characterized most of her childhood. Those hands could kill a man in 532 different ways, but they had also healed every one of her scrapes and bruises—mostly after he’d put her through a punishing training session. Because of Dakari, she could take care of herself, and because of him, she’d always felt like she had someone to take care of her.
If she’d lost him the way she’d lost Mari . . .
“You’ll do,” he said after he was done examining her. “It’s healed well enough that you won’t have to worry about infection. You ready?”
She nodded.
“Then why do you look so unsure?” He frowned at her. “You’re never unsure before a job.”
“I’m fine,” she said, turning away, but he took his hand and lifted her chin, forcing her to look him in the eye.
“Tell me. Before your worries become the distraction that gets you killed.”
Esta hesitated, but finally she said, “You really don’t remember Mari?”
Dakari frowned. “That’s what’s bothering you?”
She nodded. “Messing up the way I did, it changed things. She was my friend, and she doesn’t even exist now.”
“You can’t know that your actions were what erased her life.”
“What if they were? What if I make another mistake? What if, when I come back, other people are gone? Other lives are erased?”
He thought for a minute before reaching into his boot and pulling out a small pocketknife with an ornately carved bone handle. He offered it to her, and when she took it, he gave her a serious look. “That was my father’s. He gave it to me before I left my country. I would only give that to someone I trusted. Whatever happens, I trust you with my life.”
The knife was warm from having been snug against Dakari’s leg, and though it was small, its weight was reassuring.
“Thank you,” she said, her throat tight with emotion as she tucked the knife safely into her own button-up boots. “I’ll bring it back to you. No matter what.”
“I know you will,” he said, and gave her a wink. “And I’ll be here waiting for you.”
Esta took a deep breath. “Let’s get this over with.”
? ? ?
By the time Esta was in the back of Dakari’s car and heading toward their destination, it was nearly four in the morning on a Tuesday, long after most of the bars had closed. People should have been home, asleep in their tiny apartments, but even this deep in the night, the city glowed. The streets still teemed with life as the car crawled upward, past the low-slung buildings of the village, toward the towers of Midtown.
Esta rolled down the window, letting the hot breath of summer rustle across her face. With it came the familiar smells of the city, stale and heavy with the metallic choke of exhaust and the ripeness of too many people sharing one tiny piece of land. But it was also enticing—the scent of danger and possibility that lived and breathed in the crowded streets. Dirty and frantic though it was, the city—this city—was home. She’d never wanted to be anywhere else.
Dakari turned onto Twenty-Eighth Street and then pulled into a narrow parking lot that spanned the block between two streets. The lot had been an alleyway a century before, one of the countless places in the city that hadn’t been built over and changed beyond recognition. A place where she could slip into the past without being seen.
He stopped just inside the lot and shut off the engine before turning to her. Draping his large forearm across the passenger seat, he looked at her. “You ready?”
She gave him what she hoped was a sure nod, and they both got out of the car. He leaned against the back of it, eyeing her. “See you in a few?” he asked, turning his usual farewell into a question.
Despite the heat of the summer night and her layers of linen and velveteen, Esta felt a sudden chill. She made herself shake it off. ?This was only a job, she reminded herself. It was her job.
“You always do,” Esta told him, giving her usual wink. She didn’t let the confidence fall from her face until her back was turned.
Dakari’s voice came to her as a whisper: “Keep yourself safe, E.”
She glanced over her shoulder. “You doubting me?”
“Never in a million.” His eyes were still solemn as he raised his chin in a silent salute.
For a heartbeat, Esta imagined getting back in the car and telling him to drive. Just drive. Dakari had always had enough of a soft spot for her. He’d probably do it, too, no questions asked.
It wasn’t that she wanted to run from the responsibility the Professor had given her. She didn’t even need that long . . . just another jog around the block to settle her nerves. ?Another few minutes with the bright lights and the hurried pace of this city. Her city.
But she didn’t want Dakari to know she was nervous. It was bad enough admitting it to herself. Wrapping her hand more securely around the smooth handle of her carpetbag, Esta started walking toward the center of the lot, away from the car and from Dakari’s reassuring presence.
She didn’t let herself look back again.
The parking lot was quiet, and it smelled like that combination of piss, garbage, and exhaust that only New York could smell like in the summertime. Something scuttled beneath one of the sleeping cars, but Esta ignored the noise, and as she walked, she let her doubt fall away.