Warnings: graphic depictions of violence, referenced rape/non-con, and major character death.
"You must be joking," Leila said.
"I almost wish," Matthew replied. "We'll be fine, though. I've heard Angel of Death is pretty calm."
He cracked what he hoped was a reassuring smile and walked out to the car. Matthew didn't really expect her to follow him; the invitation had only been made out of politeness, some meager effort to make up for the breach in Fang etiquette the others had committed. Yet Leila gamely trotted after him, seemingly unfazed by the prospect of meeting the best of the best of assassins.
"Nice car," she said as Matthew struggled with the broken front door.
"Hey, it gets the job done. Do you have a bike or anything? We can toss it in the back."
"No."
The word carried bitter nuances. No, she couldn't afford one, because no, she didn't have a real job. Most didn't, of course, if they had joined the Fang, but Leila still held onto her pride. He found it a tad foolhardy, but it wasn't his place to judge, not when her situation was so much worse than his. That much seemed painfully obvious from the way she eased herself into the car as if gingerly avoiding the use of hurt muscles.
"So what's Ephidel like?" Matthew asked. He didn't ask "what kind of man would do this to you," but the two were close enough.
"He's practically the leader of the Fang, what with Nergal so busy. I'm sure you already know."
"Sure. He's going to come crash in the rec room or bump shoulders with nobodies like me. I wouldn't've asked if I'd met him," he laughed.
"Fair enough."
She hesitated as Matthew pulled out of the lot.
"…I don't want to face repercussions for speaking my mind."
"Hey, you don't need to worry about me. What do you say?" he said. Hers was an odd statement, but, thinking of how Ursula talked of Sonia's distrust of Legault, he didn't begrudge her it.
"Honor among thieves, right?" Leila said with a close-lipped smile that brought a mischievous glint to her eyes.
He couldn't help but grin back.
"You got it."
Leila assessed him for a moment, her face unreadable. She seemed to find something about him satisfactory, since she spoke:
"Sir Ephidel is…eerie. He's charming enough, but there's just something unsettling about him, something that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. He's serious and devoid of any passion, the sort of man that would kill someone just as calmly as he would…"
She trailed off. When Matthew looked over, her face was pale, and she bit her bottom lip.
"Leila?"
"As calmly as he would take his morning tea."
"That wasn't what you were going to say."
"If you know what I was going to say, then there's no use repeating it," she said coolly. Leila didn't have any real bite to her words, though, and he let it drop.
"All right, then. Are you feeling any better?" he asked rather than pursuing the matter. He was curious about their enigmatic boss, but there was no point pestering Leila for more information, not when she faintly trembled.
Matthew stopped at an intersection on the border of Thria, glancing over at her.
"No," she murmured.
Matthew hadn't truly needed the answer; he could see the marks on her skin, an ugly red bite splashed along her slender neck and raw scratches peeked out of the collar of her jacket. A dark bruise colored her wrist purple-black.
"He's got nerve, I'll say. He had no right to do that."
"Of course he did. I'm just his whore, after all," she said bitterly. Leila looked away from him as if she suddenly found the Bernese streets too interesting to ignore.
"You're a Fang member. You shouldn't be treated like this," he growled. "It looks like he took a belt to you."
"Yet no one else tries to stop him."
"That's not right...That's not how we work."
"Then do something about it," Leila said, eyes like a hawk's.
Matthew looked away.
"I'll talk to Hurricane when I see him. He'll put a stop to it," he said. It felt like a cop-out, passing the buck to someone else, but Leila smiled.
"Thank you."
"So, what business do you have with Angel of Death?" Matthew asked.
"Pardon?"
"You're in the car. Do you have business with Angel of Death, or am I just that damn irresistible?"
He expected her to roll her eyes, and in that, he wasn't wrong. He didn't expect her to grin ear to ear, however.
"If you want to believe that, go ahead. It'll hurt when you fall from the dream world you're stuck in, but who am I to shatter your hopes?"
The way she smiled without showing her teeth accentuated her beauty mark, robbing him of his ability to retort. With her delicate features and a smile like that, Matthew could see full well why Ephidel had wanted her. His face flushed at the thought, and he hastily looked back at the road.
Leila laughed lightly.
"No comeback?"
"Nothing great, I'm afraid. It doesn't change the question—any reason you agreed to come?"
"Any reason you asked?"
He shrugged.
"The other guys didn't pay any attention to you, and, well, that's not really fair. Just doing my part to maintain our little brotherhood," Matthew answered.
"I was bored, is all. I'm not supposed to leave Black Fang territory, and there isn't much to do without other people around," she said.
"What? Who told you that?"
"Sir Ephidel."
"This isn't right. We've never done something like that….If White Wolf knew, he'd tear Ephidel's throat out," Matthew said.
She patted him on the shoulder.
"Thank you for trying to cheer me up. If I didn't know better, I'd say you're too nice to have ended up in a gang."
"Is that supposed to be a compliment? I'm pretty good at what I do," he said.
"Which is?"
Matthew flashed her his best grin.
"Tell me, would this happen to be your moneybag? Or, well, I would say that if I were some telly star or something. Even I'm not so good that I can pick your pocket while I'm driving."
"I'd love to demonstrate my skills, but you wouldn't much like that," she replied.
"Yeah?"
He thought of a dozen cheeky comments about her current work that would make her blush to her roots. But even though she would eat her words about his comeback skills, a moment's smugness wouldn't make up for earning her spite.
"I was something of an alley-basher. A cut above a mugger, but below a hitman," she explained. Thinking of the tense stance she'd taken on the firing range and how warily she watched others, he could believe it. Leila didn't quite have the prizefighter's strength of Linus or Uhai, but her thin frame held a good bit of muscle, her shoulders bulkier than someone like Ursula's.
"Really? With your marksmanship, it's a surprise you didn't go into murder."
"…Like I said, my father taught me. He wouldn't have liked his daughter to kill for pay."
"My parents don't care either way," he said. "Cabbie, thief, assassin…It's work. 'Course, try telling that to Guy and he just launches into a tirade, but…"
"Who's Guy?"
Matthew cursed under his breath. He didn't need to mention that he lived with a private eye, for then came the inevitable onslaught of questions, the accusations, the animosity. As Legault said, not many Fang were understanding when it came to detectives. He didn't know if Leila would bash his head in for that sort of thing or not, but he'd rather not find out.
"My flatmate. He's not important."
"He's not in the Black Fang, I gather?" she pressed.
"Strictly speaking, no. Actually, in any manner of speaking, no. He and I went to school together. I'd rather he not get involved in all of this."
"How can you be proud of what you do if you can't tell your best mate?"
"When did I say—"
"Do you deny it?" she asked, stare intense enough to melt steel.
"Well, no. If you must know, he'd tear me limb from limb. He's a detective, see, and—y'know what? It isn't really your business," Matthew said.
"A detective? And you're actually living with him?" Leila asked, surprised.
"Well, the city's not exactly safe for either of us. We're not too strong, so...The Fang would gut him in a second and the police would throw my arse in jail."
She nodded in understanding and obligingly dropped the topic. As the moldering old buildings of Bern swallowed the Lycian ones, she started again:
"…My parents kicked me out of the house when I turned eighteen and a day. That's how I ended up out here. I had nowhere to go. I bounced from one mate's flat to another's until there was nothing but sleeping on the streets and praying I lived to wake up."
He gripped the steering wheel tightly, nails digging into the padding.
"I'm sorry," he said in a small voice. Familial loyalties usually stayed strong, even with the city twitching like a dying spider. All things given, it explained her painful thinness and the wary way she watched him. "I thought you said you weren't going to pour your life story out to a stranger."
"Do you still feel like we're strangers?"
Matthew thought for a second how easily she'd talked to him. He'd only known her a day or two, but he felt like he knew her better than he did Raven, whom he'd chatted with for months.
"I met Guy years ago. He wasn't from the best of households, so he'd always show up to lunch in these tattered, too-large clothes, and sit by himself, without a bite to eat. He was bullied pretty badly for it, too, and for being Sacaen in the middle of an Ostian school. I still don't know what made me do it, but I shared my food with him, and, well, he hasn't left since. I was a thief even then, you know, a petty shoplifter of sorts, and I guess he was always a bit of an honorable justice monger, too," he said, smiling wistfully at the memory.
"He fought with everyone, of course. Picture this skinny little Sacaen kid getting his teeth knocked out by some huge rugby player, then getting right back up, fists swinging. He needed me to look out for him back then. Hell, he needs me to look out for him now. He'd turn up penniless and with his throat slit in some back alleyway…You get the idea. Still, he's been the only one fool enough to stick by me, so I owe it to him not to let the Fang bite him in two. So there. A secret for a secret."
She looked at him, large eyes fixed with aquiline intensity, and he smiled back. The two held eye contact for a second too long before both broke off, embarrassment coloring their cheeks.
"I won't tell," she said, a promise, another secret between them.
"Not like I would, either!"
"…The light's green, you know," Leila said with the barest hint of a laugh touching her words like the wingbeats of a moth.
He slammed his foot on the pedal, snapping his mind back to the road. That'd teach him to dwell on idle words. His distractedness could've turned his cab into a piece of scrap metal with two broken corpses inside. That wouldn't do him or Leila or Legault any good. With the most important job of his life to worry about. He simply didn't have the time to linger over a sentiment shared with Ephidel's whore. Matthew felt a stab of guilt for thinking of her as such. Leila had already made it abundantly clear that she had no desire to stay in her current situation.
Her smile melted off her face. Immediately, she was the guarded, gunslinging alleybasher once more, the moment's amiability locked within the fortress of street-savvy caution. They drove in silence until they reached an abandoned old inn with a white paw-print painted on one window. They both stepped out, looking around warily.
The street was all but deserted, as if trapped in the memory of better times and unwilling to permit those that did not fit that vision. The echoing call of a crow bounced from building to building, the sound cutting like a dull knife through flesh. Leila's hand rested on her gun; Matthew held his knife openly. The two unconsciously moved closer together, eyes darting uneasily.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" she asked.
"…Moderately," he replied. He could all too easily imagine cutthroats and thugs in the shadows. Those, he felt confident that they could take. They both wore dog tags with the Black Fang's symbols around their necks, announcing their allegiances. It would be foolish of any other gangster to mess with them. Then again, people in Bern were desperate and savage, and a military man with a grudge could knock them both flat in an instant.
"Afraid?"
"You wish," he said with more bravado than he felt. "C'mon. Let's go meet this Angel of Death."
She accepted the invitation without complaint, trailing behind him as he pushed open the door.
Matthew found himself faced with a girl who barely reached his chin, armed with a submachine gun that could easily splatter him across the wall. In a second, Leila shoved him to the side, dashing forward without explanation. He slammed into the doorframe as Leila knocked the weapon out of the girl's hand and had her twisted into a choke hold in a second. Matthew's mouth hung open; he had never imagined that Leila had that kind of skill. Far from feeling safer, it made his pulse quicken and his hand tighten on his knife's handle.
"Lemme go!" the girl yelped, wriggling ineffectually. "Matthew!"
"Cripes, Leila, let off!" he said, rubbing at his bruised shoulder.
She stepped back, face flushed and gun in hand. The girl scowled at her and picked herself off the ground.
"Who's she?" the girl asked, breath coming in quick gasps. She looked at Leila as if she were a wild animal.
"…A new Fang member," he said, not willing to go into the intricacies. "Damn, Nino, I'm sorry she jumped you. Leila's sorry, too, isn't she?"
"Of course. I'm sorry; I thought perhaps the safe house had been seized and that Matthew and I were in trouble," she said, holstering her weapon. "Nino, was it? I hope I didn't hurt you."
Her tone took on an odd, soft note, and she offered a sympathetic smile. Nino grinned, showing a set of crooked teeth.
"I'm all right. My brothers would be really impressed with her!"
"I'm sure they'd be impressed with you, too, guarding this place," Matthew replied.
He ruffled her hair. Nino preened with pride.
"Thanks, Uncle Matthew! It's been too long since you've visited me!"
"Sorry, but I'm afraid we're here on business. Hurricane sent us, you know. We've got to see the Angel of Death."
"Jaffar's not supposed to be exerting himself. I've been trying hard enough to keep him from bleeding everywhere!" Nino said.
"Please? Hurricane's really counting on me, you know."
"It's important? …I guess I could ask Jaffar if he wants to. Though you yell at Uncle Legault for me if you see him! You two wait here," she said, dashing off with the heavy gun held in one hand.
"Matthew, what gambit are you pulling?" Leila demanded.
"What?"
"You tell Blue Crow that Hurricane ordered you to see some policewoman, and now you're claiming that he also asked you to see Angel of Death. What's really going on?"
"Relax. I'm telling the truth. Hurricane's got me doing important work, and I really do have to see all of these people. You think I like dashing all over town on a snipe hunt?" he responded.
Before she could answer, Nino popped back up, sans the weapon.
"He says it's okay. I'd keep it pretty quick, though. He's got to get his rest if he wants to get better."
"Thanks," Matthew automatically replied. He slowly scaled the stairs, turned the doorknob, and braced himself.
Jaffar's eyes bored into his from the moment he opened the door. They looked like points of a constellation, far-off and alien, watching him from under lowered brows. The man had a strong predator's jaw, intended to tear the throat from a struggling victim, and his unruly hair was the color of the blood that stained the bandages tied across his bare chest. He didn't speak a word as the three filed into the room. It made the hair on the back of Matthew's neck stand on end, and he anxiously looked at his feet, the far wall, anything but those fierce eyes.
"How are you doing, Jaffar?" Nino asked, moving to change his bandages before he even replied. "Here, don't move. You're still hurt."
"Thank you," he said, voice low.
Leila and Matthew traded incredulous glances. Jaffar let Nino baby him without a word, complying with her every order. His expression didn't soften one iota, but it still took Matthew by surprise.
"I'm here to ask some questions," he started, stepping forward.
Jaffar didn't reply, didn't gesture at all to acknowledge that he understood.
"It's about when you were shot. Could you tell me what exactly happened?" he tried again.
"His injuries?" Nino asked. "Uh...He was shot twice. One bullet pierced a lung, and the other's through his leg, here..."
"Do you still have the bullets, or did the police get them?" Leila cut in.
Matthew stared, eyebrows rising to his hairline. It was a good question, but not one he'd thought to ask. His opinion of her rose a notch.
Nino looked over to Jaffar.
"One," he said with the quiet of a hunting cat padding on silent paws.
Nino finished unwinding the soiled bandages, setting them aside. She began to carefully wash the bloody mess on his chest with a gentleness that made Matthew wonder if she even knew who she dealt with. The rumors surrounding Jaffar were only outdone by the reality. He could walk through a consul's house in the middle of the day, kill him at his dinner table, and make it out to tell of it. He could pick off a policeman from three hundred yards with a handgun. He was an acrobat, a dancer, his movements graceful and lethal, a pair of curve-bladed combat knives flickering like steel lightning in his hands. He was a master of trick shots, striking mid-jump, agile enough to scale a sheer wall…and yet Nino talked kindly to him and tenderly traced the stark scars that crisscrossed his dark skin.
"Here," she said, dabbing rubbing alcohol onto a cotton swab. "Sorry if this hurts."
Jaffar didn't flinch as she cleaned the bullet hole.
"We've got one of 'em. Jaffar was barely breathing and he didn't know what happened, and it was just lying there, so I took it," Nino said. "Was that wrong? I wasn't really thinking."
"You were with him?"
"Well, sorta. I was supposed to run an errand for Mother, but I found him there…I didn't see anything, if that's what you're wondering."
"Can we see the bullet?" Leila asked.
"In a sec," Nino said, moving on to the bandage on his leg. It felt surreal, the safe house bathed in light from the dusty window. Time seemed to freeze as a proud whore, a determined thief, a young girl, and wounded assassin prepared to parlay.
"I was in Badon," Jaffar began. "Three officers demanded my arrest. I shot one between the eyes, and the other two…"
He paused to catch his breath, one hand held to his side.
"…the other two split up. The younger stayed…in front of me, but the other…behind…"
His breathing grew labored, and he stopped, a dry, wracking cough shaking him. Pain flickered across his usually expressionless face.
"You're going to hurt yourself!" Nino cried, hurriedly checking on the seal holding his chest tube in place. "I found him like this, collapsed on the streets. He was bleeding everywhere, couldn't speak more than a whisper…I, uh, hotwired a car, like Uncle Legault showed me how to, and tried to find Aunt Ursula or someone. I didn't want to move him because he really wasn't doing well, but I had to…Kenneth eventually helped me. He did the procedure on the table downstairs and left me here to take care of him."
She turned back to the Jaffar, resting a hand on his tattooed shoulder.
"He shouldn't still be bleeding if he was hurt three days ago," Leila commented.
Nino nodded.
"He tried to get up and accidentally tore out the stitches earlier. There you go, Jaffar! Do you need anything? Water? Aspirin?"
He mutely shook his head, settling back onto the narrow cot. Nino stayed at his side a moment longer, brushing a strand of red hair out of his eyes and adjusting the bandages again. She slowly got up, motioning for the other two to follow, and headed down the stairs.
"Nino, that's the Angel of Death. Are you out of your mind?" Matthew hissed.
"No. You guys are all wrong about him. He isn't just a killer. He's nice to me. Kenneth said we should've just let him die, but Jaffar didn't do anything to deserve that."
"He's a murderer," Leila said, tone like a splinter of ice.
"Leila?" Matthew asked.
"I think that's enough to warrant death."
"We're the Black Fang! We're the good guys!" Nino piped up.
Leila's mouth tightened at the corners, but she didn't say anything more. Matthew watched her with confusion, wondering uneasily if her irritation had something to do with her insistence that she had no other choice but to join the Fang. She would have had to bang up or injure victims in her earlier career, after all, so she didn't live a blameless life herself. He thought of the discomfort in his chest at the sight of Jaffar, the fear that gripped him, and wondered if she might not be right to want him dead. Matthew shook the idea out of his head. If she didn't like one nightmarish hitman, that was her prerogative.
"Here's the bullet," Nino said, pulling a crumpled metal slug out of her pocket. The impact had squashed the front end to next to nothing, but the back end had stayed moderately intact.
Leila took it out of her hand, examining it quickly before handing it to Matthew.
"No policeman fired this," she declared.
"What do you mean?"
"Caliber. The bullet's small, smaller than my 9mm. I don't think the police use anything like that."
Matthew turned it over in his hand, looking closely at it. Leila was right—unless Harken broke the procedures that Guy had been bound to, he hadn't fired the bullet that brought down Jaffar.
"Hey, do you mind if I keep this?" he asked.
"Are you going to find out who hurt Jaffar? Oh! You two are like detectives!" Nino said.
"Yeah, the Fang's own personal snoops and information gatherers. We're specialists in acquisitions of all kinds," he replied with a grin.
Leila smiled, the mirror to his.
"If you don't have anything else for us, though, we'd best be going. It's nearly dinnertime. Make sure you and Tall, Dark, and Creepy get a bite to eat, okay?" he said.
"Yeah, of course! It was nice seeing you, Uncle Matthew!"
With a merry wave and another smile, Matthew walked out of the building, that bullet sitting heavily in his pocket. Leila followed at his heels.
"Where do you want me to drop you off?" he asked as he tugged open the door to his cab.
She hesitated.
"…The Black Fang boarding house. Sir Ephidel will want me."
"He's going to hurt you again, isn't he?" Matthew asked, anger roughening his voice.
"I'm tough. Don't worry about me."
Like hell I won't, he thought, grinding his teeth. She couldn't walk without wincing in pain, for all the bravado she'd presented for Nino. Besides, even if Ephidel didn't hurt her, he didn't have the right to strong-arm her into sex to begin with. Leila wasn't anyone's property.
"You should at least get those cuts disinfected," he said instead of voicing his discomfort.
She looked forlornly at the raw scratches across her shoulder.
"I'm not so foolish that I didn't already do so."
"I'm just watching out for our new Fang member. No need to get angry," Matthew said lightly.
"I'm not angry at you. Don't worry," she assured. "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No. I didn't really think Harken had shot him anyway, and I can't exactly whip out some cop tech on this and figure out who it belongs to."
"Could Guy help?"
"Him? No way. He didn't ever get into forensics stuff. He was pretty much a stakeout sort of bloke. Not good with his words or bookwork."
"Then what do you expect to do?"
"I dunno. See this Isadora character first, check for more leads…Truth be told, I don't really know what I'm doing. I'm no detective," he muttered.
"You seem to be doing all right from where I'm standing," Leila replied.
"…Thanks. I mean, my whole future is riding on all this. If I figure out who shot Jaffar, I'll actually get fully initiated. I'd get a nickname."
"What would you pick?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but the words didn't come. It suddenly occurred to him that he had no idea in the slightest. Getting his nickname had always been a far-off idea, to the point that he hadn't even thought of it. Matthew chewed on his lip, mind racing.
"I don't know, but I'd get my tattoo between the shoulderblades. Nice and neat."
"And easy to hide," Leila added thoughtfully.
"Well, yeah. That, too. What do you expect? I'm going to wear one open, for every thug with a grudge to come take a swing at me? I'm not exactly a strong fellow. I run into some Taliver flunky, and it's curtains for me," he said, shrugging.
"Did no one ever teach you to defend yourself?"
"Not really. Don't get me wrong, I can come out pretty fine if the other guy's about my size. I know schoolyard fights. But when somebody's twice my weight and packing? I'm out of there. Nothing's going to make me put my neck on the line like that."
"Probably a good attitude in this day and age," she conceded. "Yet you keep poking your nose into my…current mess."
"I didn't say I don't get involved in things. I just don't put myself in danger. Why bother sweating and fighting when you can work in the background?"
"And messing with Ephidel isn't dangerous?"
"Would you rather I stop the car and let you walk the rest of the way?" he snapped. She had a point, though—including an ostracized initiate in a game of cards wasn't the same as raging over Ephidel's actions, and the consequences could be dire, to say the least.
Leila didn't say anything, regarding him coolly.
"What'll you do if I just drop you off and leave? Find someone else? If you don't want me talking with you, be done with it," he said.
She grit her teeth, a look of frustration flickering across her features.
"I didn't mean it like that. You and Nino are the first people I've really talked to in days," Leila said, a hint of desperation in her voice that didn't match her flash of anger.
"So, if I ask about your injuries, I'm nosy, but if I don't, you're alone? You've got to give me some leeway here."
"I'm sorry, but my business is my own," she said simply.
"Is this the same business that made you freak out over Angel of Death?" he asked.
"Matthew."
"What?"
She held his gaze for a moment longer before looking to the side. Matthew was startled to see that she actually trembled.
"I don't like that man," she said, letting her hair fall in her face. "I look into his eyes and see nothing. No pity, no remorse, just…just the cold ability to kill."
She cradled her gun in both hands, staring down at it.
"This is the great equalizer. It compensates for my size, my strength, anything but the ability to point and pull the trigger. Yet that man…that Angel of Death…Matthew, he could put a bullet through me before I could move, and that terrifies me. I can't shake the feeling that something horrible is going to happen if he's still alive."
Leila's voice shook like a dog's tail, and she made no move to holster the weapon.
"He won't hurt us. He's on our side," Matthew weakly said, but he remembered the fear that lanced through him when he met those fierce eyes. Jaffar seemed like a specter lifted from myth and nightmare, preying on some primal terror, the same fear of death that made Leila shiver.
"…I don't trust him. Nino could get hurt," she said.
"Nino's Black Fang like the rest of us. She can take care of herself."
"Not against him."
He privately agreed with her. If Leila had knocked aside Nino so easily, Jaffar could slaughter her in a second. He outweighed her by a good eighty pounds, and even bloodied up and with a chest tube keeping his lungs from collapsing, Jaffar could still likely kill the lot of them.
"You saw him, plain as I did. He's not going to hurt her," Matthew assured. "Besides, he answers directly to Nergal. He has no will of his own. He won't do anything unless it's ordered."
She nodded slowly.
"I know…but all the same, I would rather face Sir Ephidel a thousand times over than him...Pay me no heed. It's irrational, as you said," she muttered.
The cabbie felt tempted to put his arm around her narrow shoulders and tell her not to worry. His face reddened at the thought, though, and he settled for clapping her on the shoulder. She flinched away, hunching closer to the door.
"We're here," he said after a minute, noticing that she didn't even bother to look up. Her muscles were tense under his hand, and her grip on the gun had shifted to one where she could actually shoot. He took the hint and let go, knowing that the weapon could be pointed at him in an instant if he worried her. It irritated him that she could touch him without warning, but that he couldn't do the same. Then again, he didn't know her life. Many of the Fang were equally jumpy.
"Bye," she replied, before easing herself out of the cab. Matthew watched her as she walked towards the boarding house, her gait swift and masculine. She had the legs of a runner, which made her thigh-high stockings and high-heeled leather boots all the more glaring in contrast. Despite his mind's feeble protest, his eyes remained glued to the hem of her skirt, which would have been obscene on a woman six inches shorter than her. His foot remained frozen over the gas pedal.
He cursed under his breath, violently slamming his foot down and speeding off with a screech of tires. Had he gone back to high school, getting turned on every time some tramp with a plunging neckline looked his way?
"Don't think about it," Matthew muttered.
By the time he pulled up outside the flat, he had pushed aside his irritation. Matthew trudged up the stairs, the day's heat radiating upwards through the soles of his shoes. He pushed open the door, dropped his hat on the counter, and moved to flop down on the couch. Guy had apparently had the same idea; he lay on his back, arms folded behind his head, his hair out of its usual braid. It poured down his shoulders and over his chest, nearly reaching his belt. Guy was more vain of that hair than a dragon of its hoard.
Guy cracked open one eye, his young face splitting in a jaw-popping yawn.
"'Ey, Matthew," he said, pulling himself into a sitting position.
"Did I wake you up?" he asked, taking the seat beside Guy.
"Nah, I was just resting," he assured. "Long day, huh?"
"Tell me about it. I had the worst passenger. Moodier than even Raven!"
"What kind of awful?" he asked, cocking his head to the side. It was an innocent question, but it still made Matthew pause.
"Pretty snappy, but quite the looker."
Guy grinned mischievously.
"Lemme guess—quiet, Ilian, and hanging off of every word you said?"
"More like your type, I think. Natural redhead, a little too pale, skinny as a racetrack dog. Still pretty cute, I thought," he said.
"Could it…Was it P-Priscilla?" he asked, tripping over her name. Even years out of school, he still flushed pink whenever his school crush came up. The lengths he had gone to catch her eye had been nothing short of impressive, but she never thought of Guy the same way. No, she'd always hung around Erk, talking about books and science with him. It drove Guy up the wall, but they'd somehow become friends anyway. Matthew still felt some pity for him, but he'd been moping far too long.
"No, it wasn't Priscilla. Cripes, just get over it, already!"
"I have gotten over it. I was just curious. You're the one who brought it up," he said.
"Really, now. Are you going to take up music again?"
Guy's flush deepened and a scowl touched his face. He had some small skill with the guitar and a good voice, which had led to him doing paid stints at clubs sometimes. All of his heartfelt covers of Sacaen songs had been intended to catch Priscilla's eye, though, and after being soundly rejected, he'd lost all heart for it.
"Shut up! If you're just gonna keep teasing me, I'll fight you myself!" he yelled, jumping to his feet. The Sacaen always stood on the balls of his feet, knees slightly bent, permanently ready for a fight.
Matthew's eyes flickered to Guy's crooked nose, broken thrice over in old brawls.
"Guy, don't be stupid. You can't just come at me, fists swinging. You smashed our radio last time."
"Aha! You're just scared I'll win!"
"We're not six anymore, Guy. That's not going to work," Matthew said. "I'm sorry, okay? I wasn't teasing you."
The other man slowly sat back down, his slanted eyes unwavering from Matthew's.
"Oh, bugger it all! Why're you so touchy today?"
Guy muttered something incomprehensible.
"Pardon?"
"Hate this job. This stupid s-security thing," he stammered, hands ineffectually clenched into fists.
Matthew swallowed, and let his barbed retorts die in his throat.
"Hey, man. What's the matter?"
"…Got told that some 'slant-eyed horse-fucker' like me shouldn't be takin' jobs from honest Lycians. I took a swing at the bastard and nearly got canned for it. Lucky Sealen was there…"
"Tuscana's only a step away from Araphen, and you know the people there are awful. Don't let 'em get to you," Matthew said, slapping him on the back.
Guy slumped back against the couch with a sigh.
"Tell you what. I'll go find the fireman and give him the names of those guys," Matthew said.
"C'mon, I'm not six. Why'd you say that?"
"No one messes with my family without messing with me," he replied, offering Guy a reassuring grin.
Guy slowly matched his smile.
"Thanks," he said, lightly punching him on the shoulder. "Don't need you to protect me, but…The sentiment's nice, I guess. If you care about that sort of thing."
Matthew hit him back with a laugh.
"Who was it that always had his face ground into the concrete 'til I stepped in?"
"Hitting some dope when his back's turned doesn't count!"
"And who still wins our little fights?"
Guy launched himself at Matthew, slamming hard into his chest. Matthew found himself flat on his back in a second, but it was a simple matter to roll and shove Guy off the couch. He hit the floor with a low "Oof!," the wind knocked out of him.
Matthew looked over to make sure he hadn't hit his head, only to see Guy grinning like an idiot.
"That didn't count!" he said with mock anger, laughing despite himself.
"It did so. You'll never stop evildoers if you can't even best me!"
"Can so! I've got some great detective work done already! See, I already know that the Angel of Death didn't kidnap Harken!"
Matthew stopped, arching an eyebrow.
"Yeah?"
"I heard Angel of Death got shot through the chest, and then he got Lowen's dad, and, well, basically he was hurt way too badly to kidnap anyway. So there. How's that for detective work?"
"Sounds good. Have you learned anything else?
"Huh? Well, no, not exactly…But it's still pretty good, right? I'm doing better'n you thought I would."
"You're a real marvel, Guy," he said, watching his flatmate meander over to the ice box.
"You want something, or did you already eat?"
"I'm starving," Matthew replied as Guy got himself a beer. He tossed one to Matthew and popped the top off of his own.
"Looks like we have sausages."
Matthew waved him on, using the bottle opener on his keys to snap off the top. He drank appreciatively. The liquor jogged his memory, reminding him to stop by The Full Moon to see if Legault had come back. He needed to see if Legault's extensive weapons knowledge could identify the bullet he and Leila had picked up. It could wait until after dinner, of course, but he needed to go.
"So, this Raven guy. How's he better than a cute passenger?" Guy asked.
"I pick him up a few days a week. He's a bit odd, but he gives me football advice, and he's reliable business," Matthew said, taking a bite of sausage and toast.
"Good for you, then! If he's got some good football tips, though, I'd love to hear 'em. The office sometimes has bets placed, and if I could turn some coin, that'd be good."
"Yeah, tell me about it. I might just take him up on it someday," Matthew said. "'Course, that's getting perilously close to palling around with him, and I'd rather avoid that."
"Not very good company, eh?"
"Not my idea of a new best mate, no. Anyway, I'm going out," he announced, tossing his dish in the sink and grabbing his hat off the counter. "See you later, if you're still up."
"I'll be writing up some case info, so maybe," Guy said, shrugging. "Where're you out to in such a hurry?"
"I'm heading down to the pub for a bit," Matthew said.
"Oh, okay. Have fun with your mates."
"Thanks. We'll try not to get into too much trouble," he said with a laugh. Matthew crammed his hat over his messy hair, lifted one hand in a wave, and walked out.
His footfalls rang out against the rickety metal stairs as he hurried down them, arms raised slightly for balance. The cabbie hit the ground at a jog, crossed the pool of light cast by the dusty streetlamp, and reached the familiar bulk of his car. It felt like his apartment had a revolving door in recent days; he couldn't spend more than a few minutes relaxing without some new idea prompting him out the door.
The drive from Ostia to Laus was a short one even in the day; at night, with hardly any reputable folk about, he slipped through the streets as easily as rainwater. The Full Moon was just beginning to kick into gear when he walked through the doors; Linus threw back a pint with his levelheaded second-in-command, Igor. The usually aloof marksman, Denning, sat serenely in the corner, a rifle strapped across his back and a blank look on his face. Rumor had it Nergal had hit him with his car when Denning was younger, and he'd sustained permanent brain damage. No one could ask him, though, as Denning could only manage a vacant expression and a nonsensical reply. Only his sister, Limstella, could coax any sort of dialogue from him, and so most ignored the man entirely.
Matthew waved politely at him, unable to be cruel to the handicapped. Predictably, he received no reply, and so he moved to sit at the counter.
"I'll take a Flux on draft, thanks," he began.
As Jan fetched his order, Matthew asked, "Has Hurricane been in?"
"I'm afraid not. He's got work with the Ilian drug trade, or so I've been told," the bartender apologetically said. He set the drink before him, adding, "Two zinc."
Matthew counted out the coins and set them on the counter.
"Hey, kid!" Linus boomed, clapping him violently on the back. Matthew nearly fell off the bar stool.
"Blimey, way to almost kill a guy!" he exclaimed.
Linus patronizingly ruffled his hair.
"What're you doing out here?"
"Trying to find what hole Hurricane is hiding in this time," Matthew said, slugging Linus in the arm. The Mad Dog took it as an invitation to hit him hard enough that Matthew did fall off his seat. He sullenly rubbed at his shoulder, scowling something fierce.
"He's off following orders from the top, I'd wager. He'll show up eventually. Legault's gone for weeks at a time."
Matthew privately thought that these circumstances were a bit different—the case couldn't well get solved if Legault wasn't around to hear what he'd discovered. He could take some small comfort in the fact that Legault would have to show up by the end of the week, like he'd promised, even if that didn't help much in the moment.
"Yeah, I was just hoping I'd get in touch with him. No problem."
"I'll tell him you're looking for him if he shows up," Linus said, tossing his massive shoulders in a shrug. "Are you going to stick around?"
"If you're buying," he replied with a grin.
Apparently fed up with waiting for Linus to return, Igor headed over. He walked with a profound limp, as always; someone had hamstrung him years ago and he'd never fully recovered. Even so, he made an ace getaway driver, albeit a bit of an oddball, even by Fang standards. He kept his hair gelled up in spikes, and he had one ear pierced a half dozen times, like no respectable bloke.
"What's this about him buying a round?" Igor asked.
Linus grumbled under his breath and fished out his coinpurse.
"Thanks, kid," he muttered, smacking Matthew on the back again. He prudently chose to move his seat, sticking Igor between them. Getting hit by a lorry had a comparable feel to one of Linus's heavyhanded slaps.
"So, how'd the meeting with the military bloke go?"
"Lloyd's furious," Linus said, toying with the clunky dog collar around his neck. "He's an inch away from ripping out Ephidel's throat."
He cracked his knuckles ominously. Igor hissed at him to quiet down, nodding meaningfully at Denning. The man continued to stare blankly at the cup of water in front of him.
"He couldn't tell him if he wanted to," Linus scoffed, but he lowered his voice anyway. "I know Lloyd told Ursula that we don't question our orders, but he doesn't like this any more than I do. This isn't like one of my father's missions. We shouldn't be doing this."
"No shit," Igor snorted. "You guys shouldn't have to answer to those creepy Quinns."
Matthew kept quiet as the two ranted, their volume climbing progressively higher as time went on and drinks disappeared. He had his own bone to pick with Ephidel, but he wasn't stupid enough to say so in front of Denning. He finally made some excuse and slipped off.
It was no secret that the Reed brothers despised the changes made to their father's organization, but to hear Linus yell it in front of a bar full of people made Matthew uneasy. He tried to remember if things had been like that in his first days in the Black Fang. Probably, if he was going to be realistic, but it didn't feel like it. Back then, they'd felt like a family. Legault had patiently taught him the basics of good thievery, of gambling, drinking, fighting, and everything else that mattered in the job. His image still served as Matthew's mark for differentiating common street thugs from class-act criminals: well-dressed, well-learned, suave, and careful. Matthew had been a scruffy kid not even out of secondary school, but the others had accepted him with open arms. He hadn't doubted their righteousness or their unity.
No, things were different. He thought of Leila, balled up miserably on the couch, ignored; Jaffar, struggling to draw breath, the others willing to let him die; even Denning, talked about like he wasn't there.
Matthew shook his head. It didn't matter. He didn't care much more for Denning or Jaffar than the others did—hell, no one had cared for them from the start. He didn't need to get himself worked up for no reason. Matthew keyed the ignition and drove off, benching his concerns alongside all the others. The thought of Leila's mistreatment didn't disappear so easily, though. At that moment, she could very well be pinned under Ephidel, trying to force back tears, her pride just barely holding her together...Matthew's hands tightened on the steering wheel.
Guy had already fallen asleep when he got home. He was sprawled out on the couch, his back to Matthew, with those files of his scattered around him. Matthew picked up one of them, wondering if he could make use of any information. The words were written in Sacaen, causing him to sigh and set the paper back down. It wasn't a huge surprise, given that Guy still asked for help with Etrurian sometimes, but it didn't do Matthew any good. He knew a little Sacaen, just bits and pieces that he'd picked up from Guy or Uhai, really, but not enough to make any sense of Guy's work.
The Sacaen shifted, mumbled something unintelligible, and settled back down, his shoulders hunched and arms tucked to his chest. He looked like a stray dog curled up to fight off the cold, his shirt hanging off of his too-thin form. Even as a full-grown man, Guy was still as scrawny as Leila, almost, half a head shorter than Matthew and skinny as spaghetti. Elibe did not look kindly upon the poor, and, like Matthew, Guy had most certainly grown up poor. Neither had really dug themselves out of that ditch.
That would change, Matthew thought to himself as he brushed his teeth and stripped to his boxers. Once he'd solved this mess for the Fang, he'd make enough to let them both live better than their current accommodations. With that singular goal in mind, he crawled into bed and flicked out the lights.