Fear Her Wrath II: Crucible of Glass

Chapter 20

I made it to the outskirts of the little settlement under the east ramp of Calloway Bridge about ten minutes before the appointed time. Terrence Rashad was already waiting for me—a broad, mayoral smile playing across his face as he held out his hand. He had put on a tie for the occasion, and his hi-top looked as usual like he had just stepped out of the barber shop.

(I guess as an aspiring local politician, he spent a lot of time in the barber's chair.)

"They are all ready for you," he said.

"Nice," I said. "Uh... any thoughts on how I'm gonna repay you for this one?"

"Don't worry about it," he said, in a way that wasn't even remotely comforting.

He made a gesture for me to follow him.

"It's not the podcast, is it?"

Terrence adjusted his tie, but didn't say anything. I was frowning beneath my mask. Terrence was always trying to get me—well, "me" meaning Nighwrath—to come on his podcast about police and government corruption in Marbrose City. It wasn't the cause I disapproved of; I just had a suspicion there would be a lot of umm-ing and stuttering and that Terrence would not throw me any softballs. I knew him just well enough to know he took a perverse delight in watching people squirm. If this meeting panned out, though, I just might take him up on it. Otherwise, he would probably enlist me to patch things up with Ellie G, and I was not wandering into that emotional minefield.

Before we dive into the conference, a little refresher: "Murraytown" was just a bunch of shacks, tents, and cardboard boxes that were home to people who got on the wrong side of Mayor J. Anton Murray's city council. Some of them were just ordinary people who'd crossed the wrong person or asked the wrong question, but a surprising number could tell you what they wrote their master's thesis on or give you the number of the building in the Deco District where they used to work. A black mark from the Murray administration could make it impossible to get a job in Marbrose City, even with an advanced degree in political science. Your options were to leave town or stay, scrounging out an existence in the margins. These were the stubborn ones.

Leaving meant the New Imperium had won.

Most of the Murraytown people were gathered around a bonfire in the middle of the settlement, leaning against the stonework on the base of the bridge tower or else piled onto beat-up sofas and discarded crates. They seemed pleased to see me, which was a relief. I wasn't sure they would help me go after one of their own.

I guess I haven't mentioned that yet—Josie had lived in Murraytown. I had actually seen her without realizing it the very first time I visited (seriously, go back and check). So if anyone knew how to find her now, it was them.

"Ay, it's the kid with the cape! How ya doin'?"

"See, I told you. It's the Nightwrath."

"Mr. Rashad, we got everyone here, just like you said."

"Thanks Remy," said Terrence, who was obviously in his element. "I think some introductions are in order. Everyone, this is Nightwrath. The vigilante. Nightwrath, these are the sharpest eyes and ears I could find in the Fen. You've met Remy before—he's one of Murraytown's elder statesmen, so what he says goes."

A lean African-American gentleman in a wheelchair acknowledged me with a courtly nod, which I returned. I did remember Remy—he'd served as lookout while Terrence and I were first talking about the New Imperium all those months ago. He had actually been an inspector for the Marbrose Port Authority before J. Anton Murray's takeover of the city government, which naturally meant he knew a little too much about all the shady stuff that came through the Chilltern Banks piers.