Cover

Dedication

For Bill & Jon, because you love these books

Part One

“Who are you?”

“No one of consequence.”

“I must know.”

“Get used to disappointment.”

—William Goldman, The Princess Bride

1

Dorothy

NOVEMBER 12, 2077

Midnight, read the note.

Water churned around Zora’s Jet Ski, the black surface of it reflecting the light of the ever-shifting anil. A breeze moved over the waves, creating ripples and causing Ash’s empty motorboat to rock. Seated behind Zora, Dorothy heard only the sound of creaking wood and lapping waves.

It was 12:05 now. Whatever happened here had only occurred a few short minutes ago.

Dorothy crumpled the damp paper in one hand, a muscle near the corner of her eye twitching. She felt each of those minutes as if they were hours, years. Time was such a fickle, funny thing.

She tightened her grip on Zora’s waist, her breath lodged deep in her throat. It was only when she looked very closely at the water that she could see the blood. The deep red of it looked black until the anil’s light caught it just so.

Dorothy could smell it, though. Even under the scent of seawater and rot, the smell of the blood was unmistakable. She felt ill and found that she had to look away.

“Seen enough?” Zora asked. Her voice was a low rumble but, even so, the emotion laced through it startled Dorothy. She’d always known Zora to be stoic to the point of appearing to have no emotions at all. She glanced at Zora’s back, frowning, wondering if the other girl was holding back tears.

And why wouldn’t she cry? Ash had been her best friend, practically her brother. And now he was . . .

Dorothy swallowed, pushing the thought away. She couldn’t let her mind travel to that place, not yet. Not until she had proof.

“Can you get any closer?” she asked, voice thick.

Zora hesitated. Dorothy gnawed on her lip, waiting for her to make a decision, her heart sinking a little lower with each passing second. She’d so hoped they could be on the same side, that Zora would believe her when she said that she had nothing to do with whatever had happened to Ash.

Minutes ago, Zora had shown up outside of her room at the Fairmont hotel, headquarters of the Black Cirkus. Dorothy still thought of it as her room, but she supposed it might be more accurate, now, to call it her cell. Earlier that evening Mac Murphy had taken control of the Black Cirkus and Dorothy’s rule as Quinn Fox, vicious assassin and leader of New Seattle’s deadliest gang, had come to an end. She’d been overthrown by her own people, held prisoner in the very hotel she had won for them.

She’d still be there now if Zora hadn’t fought her way through the Cirkus Freaks standing guard and set her free.