“Because I need help!” Falise gritted her teeth, then added, “Please.”

Kylee turned. “Fuck me with a skewer, bet that cost you.”

More than you will ever know, you vile little half-breed.

Kylee was giving her that disgusted look again. “Listen, I don’t know where Dek’s off to. It’s been a tough day putting pieces of friends into graves up on the hill. Toughest was Mother Sczui, not to mention your boy . . . um, what’s his name?”

“Ednund? You buried him?”

“Duh. You weren’t going to leave him lying on the street under that tarp, were you? God, don’t you people have any respect?”

Falise closed her eyes, sagged against the wall, whispered, “It’s just this place.”

Kylee seemed to be looking past the expression Falise tried so hard to keep wooden.

“Come on,” Kylee relented. “You got a weapon?”

The last thing she’d tell the urchin about was her knife. “No.”

“Wandering around like that, what would you do if Whitey leaped out of an alley? Get eaten like whatshisname?”

“Ednund.”

“Right. You need a rifle.” Kylee straight-armed the doors, stepping out into the sunset. “We’ve just got time. And those shoes? Better than those falling-apart disasters you had on last night. But damn! If they hadn’t poisoned most of the slugs in PA, after last night you’d be screaming full of them all ready.”

“Slugs?”

“Yeah, like Tal told you about at the orientation?”

Falise tried to remember. It seemed an eon ago, but she’d been busy plotting Chad’s and Bart’s downfalls. “Listening to that was Clarice’s responsibility. She’d tell me if I were at risk.”

Kylee’s too-large eyes seemed to expand, then she shook her head as if in disbelief. “Adopted,” she muttered under her breath. “It’s the only explanation.”

Chapter 43

  43  

When she wasn’t being Falise Taglioni, the woman could actually listen. And, Kylee had to admit, after what Falise had been through—fucking arrogant Taglioni though she might be—she did have a functioning brain. She hadn’t made a single protest when Kylee led her into Marsdome’s for boots, hat, and cape. Especially with rain clouds brewing in the east again. Nor had Falise pitched a fit when—next door at Freund’s—Kylee had pointed out a .375 caliber, variable velocity semi-automatic-action rifle with a slim laminate chabacho-and-aquajade stock. That the ammunition was locally made was an added plus.

So, what do I make of her? Kylee wondered as they sat at the table closest to Talina’s stool at the bar.