Chapter Two

Mayor Longsight’s study is not new to me. But this time, it feels different. The previous times he has always needed me, just a little. He needed me to go to Featherstone; I was the only one who would get away with being his spy. And he needed me again when he wanted to parade me as his puppet. Now I am afraid that he doesn’t need me at all.

My stomach turns as the smells of the room swelter around me. Leather and sweat and unread books and polished wood. A metallic top note makes me think of weapons – of sharpened blades – but, when I wet my lips with my swollen tongue, I know it is just the smell of blood. I will get used to that.

I stand there, legs quivering. Jack Minnow’s breath is on the back of my shoulder, but he doesn’t hold me or attempt to keep me restrained – I pose no threat, not any more. I could try to run, but they would stop me before I reached the door. Besides, I’m tired of running – it never seems to get me anywhere.

There’s a feline satisfaction about Mayor Longsight. He has wrapped himself in a burgundy robe and lounges on his chair, one leg crossed over the other, his elbow on the armrest, propping his chin on his hand. His smile is wide and his eyes blink slowly – as though he knows a secret that is hidden from mere mortals. He is alive. It is impossible, unbelievable and yet…

“Aren’t you going to ask me my secret?” He raises an eyebrow, head cocked to one side as he examines me. “I mean, aren’t you just a little bit impressed? It’s not every day that someone returns to life.”

“I’m impressed by your gall.” I’m startled by how cool and steady my own voice sounds. I daren’t let him know how shocked I am – that I am finding it next to impossible to process all I am seeing. “I’m impressed that you would play a game like this on such a scale. But then, you do love to trick your people. You weren’t resurrected.” I summon a sour smile. “The only miracle here is that they believe you.”

“And you don’t.” It’s not a question, and his face sinks into thoughtful disappointment. After a while, he stands and steps around the table towards me. I catch glimpses of his beautiful skin as the robe shifts. It seems as though he is almost alight: he gleams darkly, like an ember. I feel that if I touched him my skin would burn. “I’m sorry you doubt me.” He stands close – close enough for me to feel the warmth from his body. “But, look—” He shakes off the silken robe and stands with his arms spread wide, so I can see every scrap of ink, every outline of muscle. “You saw the blood. You watched the attack.”

I try not to think about it, I tell my memory not to replay that moment, but it’s too late and I see him, stabbed and on the ground, pooling blood. I see the cloaked figure of Sana, triumphant. She killed him… Or at least, I thought—