Demon Marked

that Archimedes has escaped more dire situations than that, at least according to his adventures. You’ve read your brother’s stories, Miss Fox, haven’t you?”
    “Of . . . course.”
    “He mentions the canals in Archimedes Fox and the Mermaid of Venice. ”
    “Oh, yes. I’d forgotten.”
    There was no Mermaid of Venice adventure, yet the woman who’d supposedly written it didn’t even realize she’d been caught in her lie. Pitiful.
    But the question remained: Did that mean Zenobia wasn’t the author after all, or was this not Zenobia?
    Yasmeen suspected the latter.
    “So he might be alive?” Zenobia ventured.
    “He still had his equipment and plenty of weapons. But if he hasn’t contacted you after a month now . . . he must be dead, I’m sorry to say.” Yasmeen meant it, but she wasn’t sorry for the next. “And so that’s the second man in your family I’ve killed.”
    Surprise and dismay flashed across her expression. “Yes, of course. My . . .”
    She trailed off into a sob. Oh, that was good cover.
    “Father.” Yasmeen helped her along.
    “Yes, my father. After he . . . did something terrible, too.”
    That was good, too. Smart not to suggest that the armed woman sitting in the room had been at fault.
    Obviously, this woman had no idea whom she’d targeted by taking Zenobia Fox’s place. If asked, she’d probably say that her father’s surname had been Fox, as well. She wouldn’t know that Emmerich Gunther-Baptiste had once tried to roast a mutineer alive. Yasmeen hadn’t had any love for the mutineer—but she’d shot him in the head anyway, to put him out of his misery. She’d shot Gunther-Baptiste when he’d ordered the other mercenaries to put her on the roasting spit in the mutineer’s place. When Yasmeen realized that she’d attained a beauty of an airship in the process, she’d shot every other crew member who tried to take it from her.
    After a while, they’d stopped trying.
    “Was it terrible? I’ve killed so many people, I forget what my reasons were.” A lie, but she wasn’t the only one telling them. Now it was time to find out this woman’s reasons. With a belabored sigh, Yasmeen climbed to her feet. “That’s all I’ve come to tell you. A few of Archimedes’s belongings are still in my ship. Would you like them, or should I distribute them among my crew?”
    “Oh, yes. That’s fine.” For a moment, the blond seemed distracted and uncertain. Then her shoulders squared, and she said, “My brother hired you to take him to Venice, and was searching for a specific item. Did he find it . . . before he died?”
    Ah, so that’s what it was. Yasmeen had spoken to three art dealers about locating a buyer for the sketch Archimedes Fox had found in Venice. A flying machine drawn by the great Leonardo da Vinci, the sketch was valuable beyond measure.
    She’d demanded that the dealers be discreet in their inquiries. Not even Yasmeen’s crew knew what she’d locked away in her cabin. But obviously, someone had talked.
    “It was a fake,” Yasmeen lied.
    No uncertainty weakened Zenobia’s expression now. “I’d still like to have it. As a memento.”
    Yasmeen nodded. “If you’ll show me out, I’ll retrieve it for you now.” She followed the woman out of the parlor and into the hallway. “Will you hold the rope ladder for me? It’s so unsteady.”
    “Of course.” All smiles, Zenobia reached the front door.
    Yasmeen didn’t give her a chance to open it. Slapping her gloved hand over the blond’s mouth, she kicked the woman’s knees out from beneath her. Yasmeen slammed her against the floor and shoved her knife against the woman’s throat.
    Quietly, she hissed, “Where is Zenobia Fox?”
    The woman struggled for breath. “I am Zen—”
    A press of the blade cut off the woman’s lie. Yasmeen smiled, and the woman’s skin paled.
    Her smile frequently had that effect.
    “Your hair smells of tobacco smoke but your clothes don’t. The dress doesn’t fit you. You’ve tried to take Zenobia’s place but you’ve no idea who you’re pretending to be. Where is she?” When the woman’s lips pressed together in an unmistakable response, Yasmeen let her blade taste blood. The woman whimpered. “I imagine that you’re working with someone. You didn’t think of this yourself. Is he waiting upstairs?”
    The woman’s eyelids flickered. Answer enough.
    “I can kill you now, and ask him instead,” Yasmeen said.
    That made her willing to talk.