Four Dead Queens Page 6

  The messenger looked at me as though I were mad. “No.”

  I placed my hands on my hips. “I can unlock the vault.” Although I wasn’t planning on it. Once I had the destabilizer, I could use it on the messenger.

  He looked between the wall and his weapon, then aahed in understanding. Too bad he wasn’t as dumb as his stony expression suggested. He removed his hat and ran a hand through his black curls. “Please move aside.”

  “Only because you asked nicely.”

  He held the destabilizer to the wall and pressed the small button at the base. A bright blue streak flashed before the bricks disappeared altogether, the microorganisms now unconscious.

  And although I should’ve been concerned about Mackiel finding us breaking into his vault, I couldn’t help but enjoy the buzz. I forgot where I was, caught up in the game.

  The vault yawned back into the darkness. I squinted. It hadn’t been this large the last time I’d been in here. Mackiel must have extended into the room next door—his quarters. Why hadn’t he told me? And what else was he hiding?

  The messenger flipped a switch on his destabilizer, and light bled out in a circle, illuminating the alcove in an instant. The closest shelves were mostly empty, making the silver comm case easy to locate.

  I darted forward and slid the comm case into my palm before the messenger could reach for it.

  “What are you doing?” he asked.

  “Ensuring my safety.” I stepped back out of the vault, my eyes fixed on the destabilizer. “We’ll do a swap. You give me your destabilizer, and I’ll give you the comm case.” Come on, come on.

  The messenger stepped forward but then stopped, his gaze trained on the office doorway. I turned reluctantly.

  “Hello, darlin’.” Mackiel was blocking the exit, a pistol in his hand.

  The messenger held the destabilizer up, but it was useless against Mackiel at a distance. I’d seen more powerful versions that shot darts of voltage, but it was clear this smaller one was meant for hand-to-hand combat.

  “Mackiel!” I said in relief. “Thank the queens above you’re here. This messenger said he’d destabilize me if I didn’t return his comm case.”

  Mackiel moved to stand behind his desk, his pistol unwavering. “Is that so?”

  I frowned at him, confused by his cold reaction. I knew how it looked, but I would never betray Mackiel.

  “Yes.” Now was not the time to be playing games.

  The messenger shot me an angry look, an expression I wouldn’t have believed he was capable of making.

  “Kera, darlin’,” Mackiel mused. “My most daring, my most talented . . . my best dipper.” He didn’t say friend. I stayed quiet, unsure where he was going with this and scared by the deadly look in his eye. “And my best liar.” He smirked. “I’ve trained you well.”

  Only then did I realize the pistol was aimed at me.

  “What are you talking about?” I asked. “You know me. I would never—”

  “Oh, be quiet!” he snapped. “I know exactly what you would and wouldn’t do. Hand over the comm case. Now.”

  “What’s wrong with you?” I asked. “You know I wouldn’t betray you.”

  “Really?” He raised an eyebrow. “You’re saying you’d never leave me for dead?” He scratched at his neck.

  “That was years ago! You know that was an accident!” And what did that have to do with the comm case? What was so important about the memories the chips held?

  “An accident?” He pursed his lips. “Like your father’s? Many people seem to have accidents around you.”

  I flinched as though I’d been slapped. He’d never spoken to me that way. He’d grown cold, yes, but never cruel. This wasn’t my friend. The boy I knew would never have thrown that in my face. He had comforted me after my father had been gravely injured. He’d given me a place to live when I couldn’t face my mother. Why was he turning on me now?

  “Give me the comm case before my finger slips,” Mackiel said with a sly grin, “accidentally.”

  Was I about to become another body to dump in the sewer? Was it really the henchmen or Mackiel who’d been getting “carried away”?

  “Please, Mackiel.” I held my hands out, my dipper bracelet dangling from my wrist. “Don’t do this!”

  He pointed the pistol at the messenger. “Move.” He gestured to me with the barrel. “Stand beside her.”

  He always wanted to prove he was tougher than he looked. Would he kill me to do it?

  “Quickly!” he said.

  Mackiel had selected the messenger to steal from; somehow he’d known what was on the chips and how vital they were. Vital to the survival of the auction house, which was all he had left of his father. Was it a memory from his father? Surely not. But he obviously cared more about this comm case than our friendship. I would have to use that against him.

  I shoved the window behind me open. “Come any closer, and I’ll throw the comm case into the sea.” I placed my hand out in the frigid air. “Then you’ll have to take a swim to the bottom of the ocean to retrieve it.” Both of us could use that day. The day he almost drowned.

  “You wouldn’t.” Mackiel stopped dead, the pistol drooping a little in his hand.

  “I thought you knew what I would and wouldn’t do?” I glanced to the messenger. His face showed a flicker of fear. I was going to have to be brave for the both of us.

  “Now, now,” Mackiel said. Was that sweat beading across his forehead? “Don’t do anything foolish.” The sea would erode the chips; he wouldn’t allow me to send these memories and his father’s business to the ocean floor.

  “Let us go,” I said, “and we’ll give you the comm case, and the destabilizer as a bonus, because we’re such good friends.” I showed my teeth, not quite a smile. “It will sell well tomorrow night. It will make your patrons happy. No one else has to know what happened here.” That was why he wanted to get rid of us, right? His reputation. He would have his comm case back and whatever memories were on the chips.

  Mackiel gave me a wolfish grin. “Give me the comm case, and I won’t send two bullets to make a home in your belly.”

  He wouldn’t.

  Or rather, the old Mackiel wouldn’t. He’d spent too many years pretending to be ruthless, too many years trying to impress his father with darker and darker deeds, desperate to earn his attention, his love. And since hiring the henchmen, he’d crossed a line that couldn’t be uncrossed.

  The metal case was cool in my palm, soothing. All I had now was the comm case and the chips within it. I needed Mackiel to care about me as much as he seemed to care about these chips. Only one option remained.

  My eyes flashed to the messenger before I pressed the button on the top of the comm case. A hiss echoed as the lid lifted. Both Mackiel and the messenger froze.

  “Careful, darlin’,” Mackiel said, his voice low, his gaze darting to the open window and the water below. “Let’s step away from the window . . .”

  Before he could lunge for me, I picked up the four round translucent chips from inside the case and shoved them in my mouth. As the chips dissolved on my tongue, the embedded video links traveled to my brain, tapping into my synapses and taking hold of my senses. They transported me to another time and place. I was no longer in Mackiel’s office.

  I was in the palace.

  And I was covered in blood.

  PART TWO

  CHAPTER SIX

  Keralie

  Images flickered through my mind like the Queenly Reports screened at the Concord. Only they were transmitted in red.

  No. That wasn’t right. The pictures were in color, but they were slick with blood. It was as though a red veil had been lowered over my eyes.

  The flickering slowed. Scenes lingered. Images came into focus.

  A column of pale unblemished skin. A slender silver knife.
One quick slice. A mouth opens to form a scream. Blood rushing from a deep groove. A chasm of red.

  Then.

  Liquid gold turning red. First stagnant, then moving. Splashing, swirling, splattering over tiles, as though the liquid is alive. A head of dark hair submerges. A golden crown sinks to the floor. One last breath. A body turns limp, rising to the surface.

  Next.

  A flicker. Light. Heat. Bubbling and blistering skin. A hand presses to glass. A mouth opens. Begs. Brown skin is covered in ash, like dirt covering a grave.

  And finally.

  A body contorts. Shudders. Sweats. Limp dark hair is splayed against a pillow. Bile is expelled. Over and over. Skin turns yellow. White lips open. A final scream.

  I wanted to turn away, but couldn’t. They were there. Everywhere—the images. The crowns. Faces. Faces I knew all too well. Faces I’d seen many times on the Queenly Reports. They were there. All of them. All four queens—dead. Behind my lids. Inside my head.

  How do you hide from your own mind?

  Get out, get out, get out!

  * * *

  —

  “WHAT HAVE YOU done?” a voice asked.

  My father’s agonized face flittered behind my eyelids, joining the queens.

  Too much agony. Too much blood. Not again. Not again.

  I wiped my hands on my dress, trying to get the blood off. But it wouldn’t budge.

  “Keralie!”

  I gasped, pulling free from the darkness and decay. Mackiel’s office came into view. I turned to the voice, rolling my head from side to side to disturb the images, like extracting myself from a bog. Now that the chips had fully dissolved and washed away with saliva, my senses returned. But not everything would fade.

  “Kera.” Mackiel stepped toward me, the pistol limp in his hand, his eyes eager. “What did you see?”

  I’d forgotten he was there. I’d forgotten everything. Everything aside from the images. Those faces marked with death. What was that?

  I looked at the messenger. His eyes were wide. Comm chips were perfect for one-off communication that left no trace. Perfect for recording the act of murder and mutilation.

  “Kill me,” I said to Mackiel, still blinking back to reality, “and you’ll never find out.”

  Clearly, he wasn’t planning to sell the comm case and these chips to the highest bidder.

  What had he gotten himself into? His father never got involved in palace business. Ruling the Jetée was all he’d cared about.

  I wished I’d taken one chip at a time, like you were supposed to—then I could’ve understood the memories better—but a part of me didn’t want to know more. Too much blood. Too much death.

  “Let’s not do anything rash,” Mackiel said.

  “Rash?” I barked out a laugh. “You’re the one holding the pistol.”

  “Point taken, darlin’.” He placed the weapon on his desk, splaying his ringed fingers wide in surrender. “Better?”

  I shook my head. “You let us go.” I gestured to the messenger. “You let us live. And I’ll consider telling you what I saw on those chips.”

  Mackiel’s kohl-lined eyes studied the messenger. “I’ll let him go. You”—his gaze flashed back to mine—“stay here.”

  But I didn’t want to be in the same quadrant, let alone the same room, as him. There was something sinister about his expression—something greedy and hungry that made my skin crawl. This was not the boy who had cried for weeks after burying his father or cared for me after I nearly lost mine. But I couldn’t let him see how much this hurt. Mackiel took your weaknesses and twisted them for his gain.

  “No deal,” I said.

  “Now, now, darlin’.” His words sounded melodic and soothing, but something desperate scratched at the surface. “You know I would never really hurt you. Promise.” But that was my word. A word I’d always used, but never really meant. “You know you can’t go home.” He wasn’t referring to my lodgings downstairs.

  I wanted to throw my hands over my ears; I wanted to scream at Mackiel for using my family against me. Instead I said to the messenger, “Come here.”

  The messenger hesitated, glancing between Mackiel and me. I shot him an annoyed look. Finally, he shuffled over.

  “Kera.” Mackiel’s voice was lined with steel. “Let’s sit down and talk about this for a moment.” He removed his bowler hat and set it on his desk. Sweat glistened on his brow. I was making him nervous. Good.

  “We’ve talked enough. You’ll let us go, and you won’t follow. Neither will your henchmen.”

  Mackiel shrugged his shoulders, two sharp points visible under his large coat. “I can’t control their every movement. They’re still free men, after all.”

  Free? Hardly. I ground my teeth. “Yes, you can. And you do. Don’t play me, Mackiel.”

  “Me?” He pointed to himself and widened his eyes. “Never. Why don’t we have a chat,” he said, nodding to his desk chair. “Let’s slow things down a little, make things more civilized.” He grinned widely. “Dinner?”

  The darkness that had been bubbling beneath Mackiel’s surface for months was now revealed. His eyes narrowed. Movements frenetic. He watched me with the same intensity that he studied his targets. Calculated. Yes. That was it. But now I was the prey.

  I had to go someplace where there was no chance he would follow.

  “Sure,” I replied. “But first”—I threw the now-empty comm case at his head—“duck!”

  As he ducked, I pushed the messenger out the open window and into the black waters waiting below.

  * * *

  —

  THE WATER WAS as freezing as I’d imagined.

  Of course, I hadn’t thought this plan through, and in the moments before I hit the ink-dark water, I questioned my decision. It was winter. It was nighttime. The water would be bitterly cold.

  For the first time tonight, I wasn’t disappointed.

  The water punched my lungs. The waves were needles relentlessly stabbing my face, neck and bare arms. Salt burned my nostrils and stung my eyes. I wasn’t sure if I was up or down in this weightless watery grave.

  And while I should’ve struggled for the surface, I thought of Mackiel and that day seven years ago.

  We’d only known each other for a few months when I’d suggested we jump off the Jetée. It was a simmering summer’s day, and the water was the same crystal blue as the sky above. Mackiel had been hesitant. He was even narrower then, a thin reed of a boy. But I’d promised to look after him, boasting about being a strong swimmer. I’d spent every summer swimming off my parents’ boat, and I could hold my breath for long amounts of time.

  “I’ll look after you,” I’d said. “Promise.”

  And so we jumped.

  When Mackiel had struggled and dipped beneath the surface, I thought he was playing. Mackiel was always playing. His face contorted, air bubbles sparkling up around me as he gulped like a fish. I giggled at his antics.

  I realized my mistake when his face turned red, then blue.

  I dove beneath and managed to pull him to the surface, tucked his limp body under my arm—he’d fit easily back then—and dragged him to shore.

  He immediately spluttered the water from his lungs, but it wasn’t until he smiled that I relaxed. He never believed in my promises again, as if I’d meant to hurt him.

  A current tugged at my clothes, dragging me back to the present. There I was, surrounded by darkness. I kicked and kicked until my head pierced the surface. My gasp was a breath of fog upon the water. I looked around, searching for the gas lamps on the dock.

  As I treaded water, I expected to become accustomed to the frigid pain. I didn’t. And my skirts were intent on dragging me to the bottom of the sea to join the others who’d tried to deceive Mackiel. I imagined pale arms reaching up from the sea floor, ready to
snag my boots.

  A wave barreled into my back like a runaway horse, pitching me toward the dock.

  No. It wasn’t a wave. It was an arm, encircling me, weighing me down. Black hair bobbed above the water, pale eyes reflecting in the starlight.

  The messenger.

  Why was he trying to drown me? A body thrashing in red-and-gold liquid resurfaced in my mind. I wouldn’t be taken down as easily.

  I kicked, connecting with his stomach.

  “Stop!” he sputtered. “I’m trying to help you!”

  I gagged, my mouth full of salty sea. It shredded my throat on the way out.

  “Your dress is weighing you down.”

  “Oblough.” Obviously, I tried to say.

  “We need”—he panted as he treaded water—“to take it off.”

  I nodded and reached around to the ties behind my back. Without the use of my arms to stay afloat, my head dipped below the water.

  Two strong hands lifted me back up. “Stop!” he said. “I’ll do it.”

  I tried to comment about him wanting to undress me ever since we met, but my mouth filled with more salty water.

  He turned me in his arms, and I did my best to stay above the surface as he tugged at my corset. His valiant attempt to keep me from greeting the ocean floor with a sandy, salty kiss was taking its toll. We were sinking.

  “Why is this so complicated?” he gasped. I thought of his dermasuit and the easy magnetic clips.

  “Here,” I managed to say. I pulled my sharp lock pick from where it clipped into my dipper bracelet. “Cut it off with this.”

  He wasted no time slicing through the corset. My outer layers floated away, and I kicked free. The relief was immediate.

  Without the weight of my dress, I was able to swim easily. The messenger wasn’t far behind. We swam toward the dock.

  I was halfway up the dock’s ladder when a voice sounded in the dark like a foghorn.

  “Find them!” Mackiel ordered. “We can’t let Keralie out of our sight!”