Inked

consciences after a while, falling to their inner predator. Our father hated vamps—he’d witnessed his cousin being killed by one and barely escaped with his own life. The bloody memory stayed with him.
    I stood at the front entrance to the Marketplace, scanning the faces, looking for Trillian. I’d dressed to impress, a black sparkling bustier over a spidersilk skirt the color of a peacock’s feathers. A pair of leather gloves covered my hands, in black, up to the elbows. I’d worn a pair of my mother’s shoes—odd, high-heeled sandals made from leather with spiked heels and delicate straps. She’d had the same size feet as I did, and I’d claimed her shoe collection, since none of her clothes would fit me. I had also tucked her wedding dress away in my closet, secure in a wooden trunk filled with moth-repelling sachets. I was saving it for when Menolly got married—she’d fit in it no problem.
    Now, I cautiously maneuvered over the cobblestones, sticking close to the entrance, hoping the Svartan wouldn’t stand me up. But just as I was about ready to leave, there he was, dressed in black tunic and trousers, a silhouette gliding through the street, silver hair bound in a braid, a smile on his face.
    Trillian reached out his hands and I took them, my heart jumping a beat. I pressed in, kissed him deeply and he returned the fire with his own.
    “You came,” he said. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”
    “I promised. Did you think I’d space out?” I gazed into his eyes and saw a flicker of confusion. “Idiom from my mother’s world. You really didn’t think I’d come, did you?” Could he be as nervous as I was?
    “I didn’t know. To be honest, I haven’t been able to think of anything else today. The image of your face haunts me.”
    I smiled, feeling unaccountably happy. But all I said was, “Is Roche here?”
    And then, he was all business again. Trillian tugged my hand, pulling me behind him. “Yes, he is. Follow me and be careful. Did you bring something to bind him with should we catch him?”
    “Right here.” I touched the shoulder pouch hanging from my right arm. Inside, I had several things that could stop Roche, short of a bodyguard or a mage. The agency didn’t know I carried them, or they’d take them away. But my sisters and I had accumulated a trunk filled with goodies that bordered on illegal. We figured we needed the advantage, given our faulty powers.
    In my bag, among other things, I’d tucked a pair of iron handcuffs, careful not to touch them with bare skin. Not only were they iron, but they were bespelled with confusion magic, guaranteed to knock any Fae on his butt.
    Torture device? Yeah…the iron would burn his skin until he was locked up and they were removed. But considering Roche’s crimes, I wasn’t exactly feeling merciful. In fact, Delilah thought I was an ogre for using them, while Menolly just gave me a knowing look. But I was rapidly learning that the only way to win with the YIA was to play down and dirty.
    I also had a bottle of pixie dust that I’d picked up at the flea market. Guaranteed to turn anybody who breathed it into a klutz. And resting next to the handcuffs and the pixie dust was a scroll that I’d spent a lot of money on. The magic was deadly, and if I broke open the wax seal on the charm and inserted Roche’s name into the spell as I read it, he’d never walk this world again.
    Death magic was more common than anybody wanted to admit. I didn’t like using it—there was something too familiar, too enticing about it, but with his track record I wasn’t about to leave my ass uncovered. The best of circumstances would leave me holding the death charm for a different time, but it felt good to have a little insurance tucked away.
    Trillian led me along a winding path through the maze of carts and awnings and tents and canopies. We passed by the stalls of dancing girls and whores, of junkies and beggars sleeping it off by the edge of the road. Trillian paid them no attention, but my gaze flickered to the faces as we passed.
    My mother told us that humans envisioned a utopia when they thought of Faerie Land. Then again, most didn’t really believe Y’Eírialiastar existed. But the truth would shock them. My father’s people were all too susceptible to the same problems that plagued mortals. Poverty, addiction, violence…we had it all.
    We passed a Sawberry Fae hawking doses of kysa for ten pen each. Opium went for ten times the price.