Demon Marked

pistols concealed in her deep pockets provided enough protection, backed up by the daggers tucked into the tops of her boots, easily reachable at mid-thigh. She checked her hair, making certain that her blue kerchief covered the tips of her tufted ears. If necessary, she could use her braids to do the same, but the kerchief was more distinctive. There would be no doubt exactly who had dropped in on Zenobia Fox today.
    The ladder swayed when Yasmeen hopped over the rail and let the first rung catch her weight. Normally she’d have slid down quickly and landed with an acrobatic flourish, but her woolen gloves didn’t slide over the rope well—and Yasmeen didn’t know how long she would be waiting on the doorstep. She wouldn’t risk cold, stiff fingers that made drawing a knife or pulling a trigger more difficult, not for the sake of a flip or two.
    The neighbors might have appreciated it, though. All along the street, lace curtains twitched. When Yasmeen pounded the brass knocker on Zenobia’s front door, many became bold enough to show their faces at the windows—probably thanking the heavens that she hadn’t knocked at their doors.
    No one peeked through the curtains at Zenobia’s house. The door simply opened, revealing a pretty blond woman in a pale blue dress. Though a rope ladder swung behind Yasmeen and a skyrunner hovered over the street, the woman didn’t glance up.
    A dull-witted maid, Yasmeen guessed. Or a poor, dull-witted relation. She knew very little about current fashion, but even she could see that although the dress was constructed of good materials and sewn well, the garment sagged in the bodice and the hem piled on the floor.
    She must have recognized Yasmeen as a foreigner, however. A thick Germanic accent gutted her French, the common trader’s language. “May I help you?”
    “I need to speak with Miss Zenobia Fox.” Yasmeen smoothed the Arabic from her own accent, hoping to avoid an absurd comedy of misunderstandings on the doorstep. “Is she at home?”
    The woman’s eyebrows lifted in a regal arch. “I am she.”
    This wasn’t a maid? How unexpected. Despite the large house and obvious money, Zenobia Fox opened her own door?
    Yasmeen liked surprises; they made everything so much more interesting. She’d never have guessed that the awkward girl with mousy-brown braids would have bloomed into this delicate blond thing.
    She’d never have guessed that her first impression of the woman who penned clever and exciting tales would be “dull-witted.”
    Archimedes certainly hadn’t been. Quick with a laugh or clever response, he’d perfectly fit Yasmeen’s image of Archimedes Fox, Adventurer . She could see nothing of Archimedes in this woman—not in the soft shape of her face or the blue of her eyes, and certainly not in her manner. Zenobia had either grown to resemble her mother, or her mother had dallied while Emmerich had been away.
    “I am Lady Corsair ’s captain.” Kerchief over the hair, indecently snug trousers, a skyrunner that had once belonged to her father floating over her house—was this woman completely blind? “Your brother recently traveled on my airship.”
    “Yes, I know. How can I help you?”
    How can I help you? Disbelieving, Yasmeen stared at the woman. Could an aviator’s daughter be this sheltered? What else could it mean when the captain of a vessel appeared on her doorstep? Every time that Yasmeen had knocked on a door belonging to one of her crew members’ families, the understanding had been immediate. Sometimes it had been accompanied by denial, grief, or anger—but they all knew what it meant when she arrived.
    Perhaps because Archimedes had been a passenger rather than her crew, Zenobia didn’t expect it. But the woman should have made the connection by now.
    “Shall we go inside?” Yasmeen suggested. “I’m afraid I have unfortunate news regarding your brother.”
    The “unfortunate news” must have clued her in. Zenobia blinked, her hand flying to her chest. “Archimedes?”
    At a time like this, she called him Archimedes—not Wolfram, the name she’d have known him by for most of her life? Either they’d completely adopted their new identities, or this was an act.
    If it was an act, this encounter was already turning out better than Yasmeen had anticipated. There was a small chance Archimedes Fox might be alive—which wouldn’t displease Yasmeen at all. She didn’t regret tossing him over the side of her ship, because