Page 4 of Terror at the Gates

“Thank you,” I said, taking the pendant between my fingers. It was a gold cross with a pointed end that made it look more like a dagger. My father had gifted it to me on my sixteenth birthday. He called it an amulet, said that it had been forged from gold found in the Nara-Sin Desert and imbued with some kind of protection properties.

I didn’t know if any of that was true, and I didn’t care. The necklace mattered because it had been a gift from my father. I hadn’t taken it off since.

Men always commented on it, though I didn’t know if they actually appreciated the beauty or if it was just a universal excuse to look at my boobs.

“You are from Hiram,” I said, still clutching the pendant. It kept me focused. “What do you do there?”

“Investments,” he said.

I tilted my head to the side, frowning a little.

“What does that mean exactly?” I asked, pretending not to know. I didn’t get far with many men from Hiram if I didn’t let them feel important.

“I make money for people,” he said.

“A lot of money?” I asked.

He chuckled. “More than you could imagine.”

I ignored his slight. I had nothing to prove to this man who presumed to know me, but the truth was he only thought he knew wealth.

“You must beveryskilled at your job,” I said, inching closer, letting my eyes drop to his belt. I let out a quiet gasp. “What a beautiful dagger.”

The man’s gaze dropped too, as if he’d forgotten it.

“Oh yes.” He cleared his throat. “Isn’t it?”

“Can I touch it?” I asked, lifting my gaze to his, trying not to cringe at my behavior. I didn’t like what I had to do to make money any more than Coco did, but it kept us sheltered and put food on the table.

“Darlin’,” he drawled. “You can touch anything that belongs to me.”

A slow grin curled over my mouth, though what I really wanted to do was roll my eyes. Still, I would not pass on the chance to see that dagger up close.

The man took the blade off his belt and handed it to me. It was heavier than I expected, and as I pulled it from its gilded sheath, I tasted something metallic on the back of my tongue.

Strange, I thought, but chalked it up to the alcohol.

“It is beautiful,” I said, looking into his eyes again. “Where did you get it?”

“I made a trade,” he said.

I narrowed my eyes slightly, smiling, imbuing my voice with a sultry charm I reserved only for situations where I wanted more information.

“Are you lying, Ephraim?”

“Yes,” he said, blinking, obviously startled that he’d told me the truth.

“Tell me, Ephraim,” I said. “Where did you get the knife?”

I wanted the information for a lot of reasons, including leverage.

“I stole it from a man on the street,” he said, speaking almost robotically, but that was because he couldn’t stop my magic from sifting through his tangled thoughts, unraveling his bitter truths.

“Oh, Ephraim,” I said in mock disappointment. “Who was the man?”

“I don’t know him,” he said, frowning. The look in his eyes was distant, as if recalling the evening he found the blade. “I think he worked for the church. He was not a bishop or priest. His robes were too simple.”

“Where is the man now, Ephraim?”