Page 9 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

Flick lifted her chin, meeting the eyes of the man closest to her, trying her hardest not to tighten her hand around the bag by her side where she’d kept the ledger safe since she’d been entrusted with it that night. It was almost as impossible as doing up one’s own corset laces.

“Where is the ledger?” the man asked.

Don’t panic, don’t panic.

“The tea is fairly bland, if you were contemplating some,” she said.

“It will be easier if you come with us quietly,” the man said. His slate-gray gaze was hard and remorseless. He turned to the man at his right. “Apprehend that thing.”

She should have been relieved he was more concerned with Laith’s cat than the ledger, but she knew what these men were capable of.

“ That thing is a kitten, and she has a name,” Flick said, aggrieved on the babe’s behalf.

There was power in a name. Identity. Admittedly, Flick hadn’t decided on one for the kitten yet.

She’d plucked the ball of fur up while fleeing the Athereum meeting hall with the ledger, and though she belonged to Laith, Flick had grown ever more fond of her every day since. “It’s—it’s—”

“I don’t care,” the man said, and gestured to the others. All six of them swept forward.

Two grabbed for the kitten, but she leaped from Flick’s arms with mystical fluidity, scurrying back against the wall and hissing up at the men.

“It sounds like a bloody snake!” one of them exclaimed, shrinking back.

A snake ? No, she was too precious of a gem to be likened to a snake. She was a gem! What was the name she’d considered that night? Pearl? Diamond? No, no—nothing so pompous. Opal . Yes, that was it. Opal was the perfect name for her.

You’re distracting yourself again.

“Leave her alone!” Flick shouted.

They didn’t seem to hear her. She took a step back as the other four stepped toward her. She had no pistol or knife—nor did she know how to use either. She didn’t even have her lighter anymore.

She gripped the dusty chair rail behind her and tried to kick the man closest to her, but she was still so new to wearing trousers that when she swung out her leg, she forgot she wasn’t kicking through the many layers of a gown and nearly teetered off-balance.

They didn’t even laugh. She felt their pity, heard it in their silence. When they began working for her mother, had they ever thought they’d be in a position where they had to apprehend her own daughter?

Had her mother thought that? Did they even know who the Ram really was?

The questions flooded her with a barrage of emotion, drowning the resistance out of her.

She didn’t fight as they clamped hot fingers around her arms, whirled her around and gripped her wrists.

She didn’t fight as they cornered her precious kitten—her Opal—and dropped her in a basket, throwing the lid on tight before she could escape.

She didn’t fight as they shoved her down the stairs and dragged her past the smug-faced waiter to the doors of the tea shop.

Two frosted-glass doors, almost and yet nothing like the doors of Spindrift, that place that had slowly been on its way to becoming home. That crew that had slowly become family.

It didn’t matter what her mother thought.

Flick couldn’t go without a fight. Not this time. She planted her feet on the floor and pulled back against the men, yanking herself out of their hold because they weren’t expecting it.

No one ever expected much out of Flick.

Except Arthie and Jin and the rest of the crew. She wasn’t the same girl that was apprehended in the Linden estate and taken away like a common criminal.

That was Felicity Linden. This was Flick.

She staggered away as the men shouted, and turned a frantic circle around the room, searching for another way out.

The waiter locked eyes with her and must have seen something in her gaze, for he yelped and hurried into the kitchens.

She fought against the panic slowly crowding her senses.

Smell . She inhaled that bitter, sorry excuse for tea.

Feel . She felt hot. Taste . She tasted the sweat trickling from her brow.

Hear . She heard the roar of her pulse pounding in her ears.

See . She saw the seven men assessing her like she was a cornered animal.

Two of them lurched toward her and she dropped to the ground, unsure of what to do next.

The others surrounded her, leaving the pair with the basket by the doors.

Stop thinking, love . Jin’s voice in her head was a welcome distraction, and not exactly new—she would be lying if she said she hadn’t had a few conversations with him that way. They’re strong, but you’re small.

She crawled beneath their grasp, shot to her feet, and squeezed between them, dashing toward the pair of men carrying Opal, ducking when one of them lunged.

She went straight for the basket in the other man’s arms, but his grip was steely and Flick felt silly for thinking she could snatch it from him.

He threw the basket to the other man. Opal’s cry went straight through Flick’s resolve before she heard another, more terrifying sound: the hiss of a blade being pulled out of its sheath.

“We’re meant to bring her in alive!” one of the men shouted.

The man in front of her dipped his chin, his voice a rasp. “Alive doesn’t mean we can’t scratch her up.”

He swung his knife. Flick jumped back, bumping into another one of the men who made to grab her, but she ducked again, digging into her bag for anything she could use against them.

It was mostly stationery, pens and paper pads, along with a box of razor blades that she used to sharpen her pencils.

And the ledger, of course. She pulled out a bottle of water and threw it at the man nearest her.

It crashed against his nose and fell, shattering when it hit the floor.

Water and glass sprayed the floorboards.

He slipped and fell, tripping another one of the men in the process.

Flick quieted her triumph. She wasn’t delusional—she couldn’t fight them. She needed to run. She leaped for the man holding Opal’s basket. She didn’t bother trying to wrench it free; this time, she tore off the lid.

Opal hopped out with a low-pitched yowl, ears flat against her head.

The glint of a knife came arcing toward Flick, and she threw up the rattan lid at the last second.

The blade ripped through and caught the inside of her arm, tearing past her sleeve and straight down her skin.

Blood spilled free, drenching the fabric.

Flick screamed. A few of the tea shop’s staff were screaming too.

As the men looked to their leader for direction, Flick stumbled toward the door and yanked it open, ears ringing as the sweep caught the broken glass with a high-pitched screech.

Opal darted out into the street, and Flick followed her into the cold Ettenian winter, arm pinned to her stomach.

People stopped what they were doing and rushed out of her way.

Nearby members of the Horned Guard leaped to attention, shouting at her to halt.

Flick ducked past them, heart pounding. Arthie wasn’t here to save her. Jin wasn’t either.

In front of a florist, one of the Horned Guards caught her, his arm slinging around her middle. “Stop!”

Flick screamed and sank her teeth into his flesh, tasting the salt of his sweat, watching Opal get farther away.

He released her with a howl, and Flick didn’t pause—she kept running, shoes pounding on the cobblestones.

She could barely think past the pain, past the blood staining her clothes, making everything that much worse.

She kept running, eventually reaching the side of White Roaring where the cobblestones were crumbling, the buildings just the same.

The midday sun tucked behind gauzy clouds and smokestack exhales.

The mobs echoed in the distance, trying to storm the Athereum walls.

She glanced back; the men were still on her heels.

She’d seen what they’d done to the reporters in the Athereum meeting hall. She’d seen what they’d done to Raze and his foundry. On her mother’s orders. My mother is a monster .

And that was when she smelled it: fish.

It assaulted her like a brick, strong and almost putrid.

Flick gagged, but Opal perked up, darting straight for an alleyway between two dilapidated apartment buildings faster than Flick could keep up.

She didn’t think it was any safer than the men chasing them out in the open, but she couldn’t bear to lose Opal either.

She ran after her, hissing when one of her shirt buttons poked at the wound.

It didn’t take much to find Opal. She was a pristine white ball of fur in the middle of the shadowed passage, and she was biting into a fish, eyes narrowing when she straightened to chew on her catch.

Od d.

White Roaring was a city by the sea, yes, but Flick didn’t think that warranted a fresh, whole fish in the middle of a dark alley several streets from the docks. No, this was too out of place. Almost… almost as if it had been placed there deliberately.

A trap , Flick realized a moment too late.

The fish moved, as if dragged on an invisible string. Flick squinted into the shadows—not invisible. It was being dragged away, and Opal, the wretched babe, was following it with a playful warble.

“Opal, no,” Flick whispered as loudly as she could, her heart sinking as the kitten kept going.

Her arm was throbbing and bleeding, sweat pooling down her back and her brow despite the chill.

She raced after the cat, aware of the men approaching from behind. If this alleyway was a dead end, Flick would soon be too. The fish bounced along the ground, Opal bounding to keep up, until it slammed against a wooden door.

The door opened a smidge and the fish disappeared.

Then it opened again, and Flick dove for Opal, her hands closing around air as the kitten disappeared too.

And before she knew what was happening, she was being dragged inside.

A hand clamped around her mouth and the door closed again with a soft sitch .

Flick struggled, trying to make sense of where she was.

It was too dark to decipher anything. It smelled of fish and rotting wood, like a place that had been abandoned.

It didn’t sound anything like it though.

There was a cacophony of hushed voices and movement.

And then she was dragged to a halt into what felt to be the center of a room.

“Who—”

“Hush, love,” someone said. The voice came from somewhere ahead of her. “Don’t want Mother Dearest finding us.”

Flick’s heart leaped. She knew that voice.

A match hissed in the sudden silence and a lantern came to life, illuminating a room full of barrels and cargo chests. In the middle, legs dangling from either side of a crate, was a boy with ink-glossed hair and dark eyes, clothed in a tailored suit.

“Hello, Felicity,” Jin Casimir said, sly, smooth, and stunning as ever. “I’ve missed you.”