She had much bigger game to hunt.

16

Wax perched on an electricity pylon, overlooking the governor’s mansion—a clean white building, brightly lit in the mists by floodlights. Those didn’t shine so strongly every night, and their brightness tonight seemed to indicate that Innate was worried. The crowds were not dispersing. Men roamed the streets; there seemed to be more of them than there had been earlier, though the clock had struck midnight soon after Wax had left the Soothing parlor.

He’d stopped by his house to rebind his arm wound, chew down some painkillers, and pick up some supplies: his hat, his short-barreled shotgun, and his thigh holster. He’d considered sending someone for Lord Harms, but honestly, Wax wanted him safe where Bleeder couldn’t use the man against him. Better that he stay hidden on his rooftop. In fact, he’d been half tempted to go fetch Steris and drop her somewhere similar. Time was short, unfortunately. He had to trust that the constables watching her would keep her hidden.

From there, he’d walked the streets a short time, listening. He’d overheard anger at the government. Vitriol for the Pathians. Those complaints were bad enough, but mixed with them was a more disturbing trend. Anger, but with no focus. General discontent. The grumbling of men over their beers, of youths out on the street throwing rocks at cats. Hiding amid it all was a murderer, like a lion in the grass.

At least the governor’s mansion looked calm. He’d come fearing the worst, a strike on Innate while he was away. She’s got me pinned, Wax thought with dissatisfaction, as the breeze rustled his mistcoat. I can’t stay and protect the governor because I have to follow leads and try to figure out her plan. But I can’t be as effective in that hunt because I keep worrying that I’m leaving Innate exposed.

Could he convince the governor to hide? Beneath his feet, electricity ran like an invisible river through the suspended cables. Spirits that moved like Allomancers in the sky, hopping from building to building…

Ah, lawman, a voice intruded upon his thoughts like a nail into a board. There you are.

Wax reached to his waist for Vindication. Where? This had to mean Bleeder was close, right? Watching somewhere?

Do you know, the voice said, about the body’s remarkable defenses? Inside, there are tiny bits of you that men never see. Even surgeons don’t know of them, for they’re too small. It takes a refined taste to distinguish them, know them. What is it that your friend likes to say? Ain’t nobody what knows the cow better than the butcher?

Wax dropped down from his perch, slowing himself by Pushing on a discarded bottle cap. Mists churned around him, drawn by his Allomancy.

If a tiny invader enters your blood, Bleeder said, the entire body begins to spin around it, to fight it, to find it and eliminate it. Like a thousand fingers of mist, like a legion of soldiers all too small to see. But what is very interesting is when the body turns upon itself, and these soldiers run wild. Free…