Smoke and Fire

Chapter 5

While Father Brant spooned oatmeal into his toothless mouth early the next morning, Asha checked the local paper for any indication that the Crimson Guard had been spotted stealing mages from Ester. There was mention of an altercation outside the Black Cat, Ester's strip bar, and a woman had been stabbed near the Stacks, the unofficial district for sex and drug trade, but that was all she could glean.

"Read me the opinion pages," Father Brant ordered when he noticed she'd picked the paper up. For a godly man interested in an enlightened way of thinking and living, he was certainly a gossip hound.

Asha obliged, reading to the best of her ability about the government's partnership with the Mage's Council and the equally crotchety recounting of the government's expenditures on city beautification projects. According to one citizen, tourists weren't important to Ester's economy, though Asha knew people travelled from far and wide to see the King's vacation home, what he'd affectionately named the Dwarf Palace and its massive botanical gardens.

Some words she didn't know so she either skipped them completely or decided on another word she thought might make sense. If Father Brant noticed, he didn't scold her like he used to when she was young and make her learn the word.

She missed those days.

Joan was getting up as Father Brant was laying down for a nap, near three. He'd spent the night in Asha's room, restlessly touching her, he, tired but unable to sleep because of those pills he'd taken, and she, exhausted but wired, thinking about guards and guns and the mouth that left bruises on her belly and her thighs.

"Do you know where Bjorn is?" Asha whispered down the hall, closing Father Brant's door.

Joan shook his head. "Last I saw he was at Rurik's."

Bjorn came and went like a stray dog. When he needed a home, he'd have one. That was the way it'd always been and she suspected that's the way it would remain. But she couldn't help but worry, remembering his blackened eye and the bullets and the gun.

She waved Joan down the hall and into the kitchen, where she put on the kettle. Joan sat down at the table, pushing his dyed green hair back from his forehead. The colour was fading, looking pale now, like the colour of lamb's ear. He was blonde, like her. Her fingers itched to travel through his hair and kiss him more. There were plenty of other places on her body he could leave love bites.

She willed herself to focus.

"Who was he getting the gun for?" The boiling water made her question seem less abrupt, almost, like it wasn't the only noise filling the air, so it wasn't drawing all of the attention.

Joan stared at her.

"I know it was for someone, so don't try to lie." She wasn't even particularly surprised he'd gone out of his way to get a gun, Bjorn always danced the line of violence—it was his favourite place to be in the world. She was, however, worried that he might actually use it on someone.

"I can't really talk about it, Asha."

"You won't, you mean." It was important he understood the difference.

He went back to staring at her and she stared back, thinking I'm not going to crack and break this stalemate, but cracking anyway. "It's not fair you get all of my secrets but I get nothing in return."

Joan said, "It's not my secret to give."

Asha crossed her arms over her chest. "It affects people I love, so you should tell me."

Joan looked away from her once, twice, and she knew she had him. He sighed heavily. "He's been using the same dealer forever and she's been skimming him for twice as long."