The Burning Hand Read online

  CONTENTS

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Excerpt from The Mirror King Five

  Six

  Back Ads

  About the Author

  Books by Jodi Meadows

  Copyright

  About the Publisher

  ONE

  RED FLAG WAS a mess.

  A literal mess. Birds pecked at oil-shimmering puddles, cupped in the broken cobblestones. In dark alleys, trash was piled halfway up the walls. Sometimes, the garbage rustled and jumped with feral cats or dogs poking through, searching for food. Smeared graffiti painted the rotting wood buildings. Only the requisite mirrors were kept somewhat clean; they covered every west-facing wall in the city, no matter the district’s or neighborhood’s wealth.

  Or lack of, in this case.

  I jumped one more roof, more confident now. I’d been practicing late into the nights, and it was paying off. At first, I’d grappled with constant soreness all down my hips and legs, but these last couple of nights I’d jumped from the Hawksbill wall to a nearby Thornton roof without almost dying.

  Now, from my position on the corner of a bakery rooftop, I watched people settle into nooks in buildings’ walls, and pull their belongings into their arms as they fell asleep. They were out within seconds, but at the slightest noise, they’d jump awake and hug their bags or bundles.

  Last week, when I’d first come to Red Flag with Romily, I’d asked why they didn’t go home.

  She’d jerked back and glared at me. “They don’t have homes. What they’re holding? That’s everything they own, unless they managed to stash something in a private spot.”

  Every night since we’d met—since Lord Hensley killed Professor Knight—Romily had shown me more of Thornton, then went on to Red Flag, where it was safer to move around. Well, safer from the police. They didn’t like coming to the Flags any more than anyone else did, so their general patrols were cursory and posed little threat to someone sneaking on rooftops.

  A figure appeared in the alley below. My heart jumped. Romily? But no, this person was larger. A confident stride. Broad shoulders. Hensley. He stopped in the middle of the street, waiting.

  In the shadows, another figure shifted. I caught four more from the edges of my vision. Hensley’s guards? He definitely needed them here. He was a well-dressed man in a very dangerous neighborhood. The Nightmare gang controlled these streets.

  Then again, Hensley was a very dangerous man; maybe he could hold his own here.

  As the homeless hiding around nooks and crates and other makeshift shelters noticed the presence of armed men, they began to sneak away, one or two at a time. A growing sense of tension filled the air until even the scavenging animals vanished.

  The area grew silent, save the keen of wind around buildings. And then, even that died.

  Again, I scanned the streets nearby for my young trainer. Nothing. She wasn’t on the nearby rooftops, either. I double-checked the location—Silver Sky Bakery—even though Hensley’s presence was proof that this was where Romily had said to meet. She hadn’t been late to any of our lessons, but maybe she had a hard time getting out of her house. If anyone understood that, I did.

  Still, I needed her now. Lessons weren’t over, but when she’d said Hensley was meeting with the leaders of the Nightmare gang, I knew we had to be there.

  “This is stupid,” James had said before I left. “You’re putting yourself at risk.”

  I’d waved away his concerns. “Hensley killed Professor Knight to keep his secret. Knight died keeping mine. I have to see this through.”

  He’d just sighed and helped me with the clothes Romily had acquired for me. I’d sent her into Thornton on a quest for a solid black uniform—nothing from the same shop. She’d come through with a surprising eye for style. The cloth and cut were things I’d have chosen for myself. The rest of the money I’d given her had stayed in her pocket to help her family. Or herself. Whatever she wanted to do with it.

  She should be here now. She, as much as I, wanted Hensley stopped.

  My calf muscles cramped from crouching too long. Slowly, I adjusted my position, keeping one eye on the mirror as I lay flat on the roof. I was still getting used to the idea of dodging mirrors with every move I made, but I was improving.

  Hensley and his guards hadn’t moved from their positions. The only change was Hensley’s posture, shifted to one hip, his arms across his chest.

  “Do you think they’re coming?” The guard’s voice was soft. So was the thump his body made when it hit the ground.

  Everyone looked from the dead man down the path the knife had taken. All Hensley’s guards drew weapons.

  Bile tickled the back of my throat. Too easily, I recalled Hensley killing Knight right before my eyes. And now another man lay dead before me, because of his association with Hensley. He had to be stopped.

  “No one questions me.” A tall woman strode out from the shadows, a rust-colored tattoo marking her face. Other men and women followed, coming from side streets and nearby buildings, carrying long knives, chains, and rusted pipes. A few had shards of mirrors adhered to wooden handles.

  “You made me wait.” Hensley didn’t move for a weapon; he was a weapon. “I’m a busy man and I don’t have time for games.”

  “Do you think I’m playing a game?” The woman’s face was shrouded in darkness; only the tattoo’s movement gave a hint of her expression: unamused, perhaps angry, definitely deadly.

  “I think you made me wait to make me uneasy.” Hensley lifted a hand, palm up, and appeared to contemplate his fingers for a heartbeat. “But I must admit, I’m not familiar with the sensation of unease. Just the screams of those who attempt to annoy, manipulate, and betray me.”

  Hatred slithered through me, causing my whole body to shudder.

  The Nightmare leader appeared unruffled. “Very well. Let’s skip the rest of the threats and posturing. Tell me about your firefly.”

  My heart pounded. This was what I’d come here for.

  Hensley shifted and put his arms behind his back, all businessman now. The dead guard was forgotten. Unimportant now, even though Hensley’s men were outnumbered three to one.

  Maybe the Nightmare gang didn’t know Hensley was a flasher. That the Burning Hand was literal, not just some name.

  “You know that my product is the highest quality. I assist in manufacturing the firefly myself. The key is heating everything to just the right temperature. It’s a delicate process, but well worth the effort.” Hensley’s tone was smooth, smiling. “I believe you’re associated with one of my dealers already.”

  The woman bowed her head. “I’m aware of him. Mercush Ries. He started using, I believe. He seems . . . content.”

  Mercush. That was Romily’s brother. The reason she, too, hated Hensley more than anything.

  Hensley nodded. “Always happy to hear about satisfied customers. But as you know, I was recently forced to terminate my prime distributor.”

  Knight. He meant Professor Knight. I wanted to be sick.

  “Mercush Ries isn’t as useful as he once was,” Hensley continued. “I need an organization like yours to help me reach the people who want firefly.”

  The woman’s voice was smooth. “Are you sure you’re ready for that? Working with the Nightmare gang is a big commitment. We don’t tolerate delay and our orders are always large.”

  “I am ready.”

  Her weight shifted to one hip. “I have arrangements with other shine manufacturers. What else can you offer to make me consider breaking those ties?”

  She was testing him. She was already interested in
the firefly or she wouldn’t be here. But like most people, she was greedy; she wanted more than just the firefly, and from a wealthy lord like Hensley, she had a chance of getting it.

  “First,” he said, “firefly isn’t shine. There’s no comparing the two. Most shine is low quality and never delivers the desired effects beyond the first hit. Firefly, on the other hand, reliably produces the user’s preferred sensation. As I said, quality is important to me. As the only manufacturer of firefly, I can personally ensure that every batch sent out is just as good as the last. There is no variation. Just a reliable product made with the utmost pride and care.”

  The Nightmare leader seemed to ponder this for a moment. “That’s well enough. But my current providers do sell high-quality shine, and at half your price.”

  “Again, shine is no comparison to firefly.” Hensley’s smile was oil-slick, and he nodded. “But I know what you want. Something no one else can offer quite like I can. Protection.”

  She cocked her head, and for the first time, I had a sharp view of her face. High, wide cheekbones, long nose, narrow eyes. She was younger than I’d expected. “Protection from whom? The police won’t venture here. They fear the Nightmare gang as much as anyone else.”

  So much for no posturing. Even at court, it was hard to find a bigger ego.

  But maybe it was well deserved. The Nightmare gang frequently eluded attempts at capture.

  Lord Hensley nodded, as though he empathized with the Nightmare woman’s confidence on some deep, emotional level. “I have ties with not only the police, but the Indigo Order as well. Even King Terrell himself. As long as our agreement holds, I can turn their eyes away from the Nightmare gang and Red Flag. I will give them something else to focus on and warn you of any raids or attempts on your organization.”

  Several seconds ticked by. She said the Nightmare gang didn’t need protection, but I knew how many resources my father put into following leads and setting up raids. Their efforts didn’t always work, but it was probably annoying for the gang to stay vigilant.

  “That sounds like a fair arrangement.” She smiled, shifting the tattoo on her cheek. I couldn’t tell what it was from my position on the roof, but whatever it was, it seemed to have eyes.

  Hensley held out a hand to shake.

  “Oh no.” The woman sounded amused, but her face was hard again. The tattoo settled into something that almost looked like a cat. “I’m not touching you.”

  So she did know about his magic. Interesting.

  Hensley chuckled darkly, dropping his hand to his side. “You aren’t the only one who refuses.”

  “When will you make the first delivery? We have many potential customers waiting.”

  Without hesitation, Hensley said, “At the current rate of production, I’d say a week.”

  Seven days.

  That was how long I had before the firefly that ruined Knight’s life—and would soon kill Romily’s brother—would destroy even more people in my city.

  TWO

  THAT WAS IT. After a back-alley meeting and agreement, they were going to go their separate ways.

  I had to do something. It was too late to prevent or interrupt the meeting, but maybe I could dissolve the agreement before the firefly was delivered.

  Or before they left the alley?

  I checked my tools. The sword was no ranged weapon, which meant engaging closer than I would prefer. I’d brought along a knife as well, but it was more decorative than functional; the balance was poor and the hilt was identifiable as belonging in a much wealthier area than Red Flag. Or even Thornton. Throwing the knife, even if it were meant for such things, would end with Lord Hensley hunting through Hawksbill and the King’s Seat to find me.

  At least my mask was different, now. That was another thing I’d given Romily money for—a length of black silk, which I’d later taken back to my rooms to cut and sew into a hood that covered my entire face, save my eyes. Sewing might be a generous way to describe the process that led to several dots of blood marking the fabric, but eventually I managed to make something serviceable. It didn’t block my peripheral vision like the silver mask, and it was much, much lighter.

  The Saint Fade Christopher mask had gone to Romily to be melted down and sold.

  Below, the alley was clearing. Hensley and his four remaining guards went toward the main street, while the Nightmare gang was dispersing into the shadows once more.

  Saints, what I wouldn’t give for a ranged weapon right now. I could shoot Hensley somewhere painful but unlikely to kill him. His shoulder or leg, maybe. That way he couldn’t burn me to death, and I could get some answers about his firefly.

  Or maybe it was best I didn’t have anything right now. I was a fair swordsman, but James kept beating me. This was no time to engage. Not without a plan.

  Resigned and furious at my own inability to do anything, I started to push up to stand.

  Someone shouted.

  A knife whizzed and a line of fire sliced my ear. Behind me, the knife hit a mirror with a loud crack, followed by a crackle of breaking glass. That was a five-crown fine.

  I pressed my hand against my ear, feeling blood against the silk hood. I crouched low as I scanned my surroundings.

  There, on a nearby roof, stood a rust-tattooed man with a belt of throwing knives. Near him was a woman with a handheld crossbow.

  Of course the Nightmare gang had people up here to watch from above. They hadn’t seen me because I’d been flat on the roof, out of the way of the mirror—until I stood. And I hadn’t looked for them because I was an idiot. It was amazing I wasn’t dead.

  But there was no time to chastise myself now. I had to get out of here.

  In the same motion, I grabbed the knife the Nightmare had thrown and surged to my feet. With all my strength, I hurled the small knife in the direction of the woman with the crossbow. Then I threw my jeweled knife at the knife-thrower.

  Both knives wobbled and fell short of their targets, but I didn’t waste time. While both the man and woman were distracted by the glint of sapphire and gold, I took off toward the nearest roof. I jumped, hit the next building with a thud, and kept running.

  “I’ll get the gold knife!” called the man. “It’s worth a fortune.”

  The woman’s footfalls thunked behind me. “There’s a spy up here!”

  A heartbeat later, another set of footfalls joined in, and then another.

  Red Flag stretched ahead of me, huge and unfamiliar, lit only by the glint of starlight in mirrors. How was I supposed to find my way in all this? Where was Romily?

  I didn’t have a choice. I ran on, even as the Nightmare gang gained behind me.

  A crossbow bolt zinged past just as I ducked behind a chimney—and tripped on a loose shingle.

  I stumbled and dropped to my knees, but before I could catch myself, I was tumbling down the steep roof, elbows banging and knees thudding. Rough shingles jabbed at my ribs. I scrambled to grab something—anything—but suddenly there was nothing below me.

  Falling, I flailed until the side of my hand hit a gutter with a numbing whack, and then grabbed the gutter with my other hand. The metal bit into my skin. Wood groaned as nails tore from their places, and the gutter gave way under my weight.

  I tried to push the gutter out of my way and reach for the roof again, but it was too late. I was on my way down, the sticky night air suddenly too thin for my lungs. I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t scream.

  A pile of trash caught me.

  Stray animals hissed and yipped, darting out of my way as I slid down the heap of garbage, making a racket so loud that it would draw every Nightmare member within a mile.

  I tumbled onto the ground, landing with one arm pinned beneath me and my face pressed against something soft that reeked so bitterly that it immediately killed my sense of smell. Gagging, I pushed myself up and straightened my mask.

  Everything hurt, particularly my hands, from the gutter, and my ego, from tripping and falling off a roof. />
  By the time I made it to my feet, I was surrounded.

  Ten Nightmare grunts. Great. Four of Hensley’s guards. Even better. Plus, the Nightmare leader and Hensley themselves, just to complete my humiliation.

  I exhaled a low oath. Now what? If Lord Hensley caught me—

  No. I wouldn’t let him.

  I drew my sword and put my back to the wall and trash.

  One of the Nightmares laughed. “I’m almost afraid he’s going to impale himself.”

  My face heated and I was grateful for my mask, but any smart retort died on my lips. Hensley was leaning toward the Nightmare woman.

  “Know him?”

  She shook her head. “I assumed he was one of yours.”

  Hensley narrowed his eyes and stepped toward me, his magic-wielding hands at his sides. “Not one of mine. Though there have been some reports of a masked vigilante. I came across one recently wearing the mask of Saint Fade Christopher. . . .” His voice held a note of amusement, like he expected I was the same person.

  He started to reach for me. To rip off my mask?

  I didn’t think.

  I reacted.

  I lunged toward him and sliced my sword through the air.

  He jerked back.

  Not fast enough.

  My blade hit resistance, but the force and momentum were too strong. The sword went through Hensley’s right wrist. His hand came flying off.

  He screamed wordlessly and then everything was chaos. Nightmares rushed in, their weapons raised. One of them had my jeweled knife pointed at my heart. Two of Hensley’s guards hurried to help him, while the others joined the Nightmares.

  Before I realized, everyone was moving. I swung my sword and dodged a punch. Metal clacked and fire raced across my thigh. I gasped and lashed back with my blade, but it was too late. I’d left myself unguarded and the Nightmares took advantage of it.

  Pain sizzled where a chain lashed across my ribs. I gasped and doubled over, and someone laughed as they slapped my sword from my grip.

  That was it. Suddenly, kicking me was a game.

  One shoved me into the pile of trash and they surrounded me. A huge metal pipe crashed against my hand, numbing up to my shoulder. With a pathetic groan, I tried to pick myself up to make some kind of defense, but a man’s boot fell to my chest and shoved me back down.