Page 18

I curse under my breath and set out, searching for bakeries along the way.

It’s the middle of the fucking night, so all the shops are closed, but I follow the scent of bread and find a small place tucked between a cobbler’s and what looks like a school for merchants’ children.

I peer in through the window, noting the shelves on which fresh bread will be stacked in a couple of hours.

The back room is dark. It’s too early in the morning even for bakers.

I sniff the air, trying to match the smells wafting out to the memory of my mate’s scent, and realize there’s no sugary undertone here.

They must only bake plain bread, not pastries.

I turn away from the shop, wondering if this is good news or not.

“Hey there!”

A voice rings out in the street, and I turn, my heart thudding faster.

A pair of city watchmen is marching toward me, their hands on the pommels of their short swords. A lantern bobs between them, its yellow light spilling onto the cobblestones.

“What are you doing, loitering around at this hour?” the one carrying the lantern demands.

But the other man holds up a hand to stop his colleague. “Wait, it’s all right. He works with Major Strahl’s unit.”

The first soldier lifts the lantern to shine the light into my face. “You really know the Major?”

I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Then I remember I was staring into a shop window, soaking wet, half my face still crusted with blood. I would have questioned me too if I were in their place.

“Good evening, gentlemen. Aye, I’ve been with the Major’s unit for a while now. Temperamental fellow, walks with a cane, has a habit of drinking endless cups of tea.”

“Ah, right.” He straightens and moves the lantern away from me. “Sorry—can’t be too careful at this time of night. What brings you to this part of town, anyway?”

“I’m merely searching for a friend.”

“Oh?” The man who recognized me first eyes me with interest. “Who are they, then? Can we help?”

I open my mouth to reply, to blurt out my mate’s name, but I can’t. I let her go without even learning that.

“She’s…” I run a palm over my face, swiping away the rain. “I’d rather not say. She might be in danger, so it’s imperative that I find her. Can you tell me where the nearest pastry shops are? She’s connected to one, but I’m not sure how.”

The guards are now wearing twin expressions of confusion.

“Pastry shops?” the man with the lantern asks. “At this time of night, they won’t be open…”

I wave the protest away. “Aye, I know, but this is connected to an investigation.”

The guards exchange a puzzled look, but they name a list of places I could try.

They’re scattered throughout the city, though they also mention the one I’ve already visited.

I repeat the names of the shops back to them to fix them better in my memory, thank them, and set out to find my runaway mate.

Three hours later, I’m no closer to finding the thief.

Despite all my training, my feet are starting to hurt from pounding this way and that on the cobblestones, and my stomach is an empty hole yawning with hunger.

I should return to my inn, get a quick meal from the kitchen, and sleep for a couple of hours, but something’s telling me time is of the essence.

The thief won’t linger here, I’m sure of it.

It would be too dangerous for her, especially if the Ravens know where to find her.

Despite my doubts, I checked the bakery by the city watch headquarters first. I sidled up to the entrance and sniffed.

The sugary scent was there, aye, but it was faint, nowhere near distinctive enough for me to pinpoint anything.

I didn’t scent cherries either, so my mate hadn’t passed through here recently.

As the guards predicted, the shop was closed, and no amount of banging on the door helped.

The owner of Etta’s Sweets must live elsewhere.

All I got for my trouble was a few choice swear words hurled at me from the buildings surrounding the bakery.

A man told me in no uncertain terms that he’d call the guards if I didn’t stop making an unholy racket, and I can’t say I blamed him.

Deciding to circle back there later, I checked another four shops on the guards’ list. Two of them smelled wrong, one was abandoned, but the fourth looked promising.

I banged on the door until the baker appeared, a fair-skinned man holding a fireplace poker.

I quickly apologized and showed him the Major’s letter, which mollified him somewhat, but he didn’t know anything about a curly-haired woman with a penchant for thievery.

He did give me another three addresses to visit, competitors of his, and sold me a loaf of yesterday’s bread at an exorbitant price after my stomach growled loud enough for him to hear.

I tear off a hunk of bread and bite down, chewing as I walk.

The fourth bell has gone, and soon the city will start waking up.

Here and there, I hear snatches of conversation, a dog barking, or a baby crying in the distance, but for now, I’m still alone, and I wonder if this is what my mate experiences every night while doing her work.

Is she lonely when the city is so quiet?

Or does she prefer it when the streets are empty and the people asleep so she can rob them better?

I stop at an intersection and glance toward the sky.

It’s dark, the rain clouds that dumped so much water over the city obscuring the stars.

The next address the baker gave me is in one of the southern neighborhoods.

But instead of heading that way, I find myself swinging back toward the first shop I visited.

I can’t explain the instinct, but I’m too tired to resist it. Another thing I didn’t count on when meeting my mate? The painful lump that has lodged somewhere behind my ribs, a reminder that I should be near her, getting to know her, and instead, I fucked up and let her go.

I rub my sternum, then scowl and take another bite of bread. Did the others ever mention this? Did any of them experience this horrible fear that they’d never see their mate again?

I’d ask Marut and Violet if I had time to return to headquarters. But if I barged in this early in the morning, still bloody and looking like a drowned rat, I’d scare them senseless. No, I’ll fix my own mess, then bring my mate around to meet them.

She might not want anything to do with you.

My heart thuds faster, and I put on another burst of speed, tucking the rest of the bread into my coat pocket for later. I have to find her and explain. I’m not yet certain what I’ll say when I see her again, but I’ll do better than last time.

Minutes later, I make it back to the part of town where many of the houses are new, their wooden upper stories constructed in a more modern style than the Heron or the buildings on the other side of town.

The streets are nicer, too, with water running clean in the gutters.

A stray cat passes me, a fat rat hanging from its mouth.

I remember the thief’s promise to leave me to the rats and can’t hold back a smile. Perhaps this is a sign that I’m close.

I round the corner, and there it is: the small pastry shop squeezed between two buildings, with an apartment above and what looks like an attic, though it has a full-sized window looking out onto the street.

I walk closer, noting the faint light coming through the shop windows. It’s still early, but the baker could already be inside, working on this morning’s batch of pastries.

Etta’s Sweets. Is this her? Is she Etta? Does she spend her nights prowling around the city, stealing from rooftops, then return here to…bake sweetmeats? It doesn’t sound plausible, but the clues led me here. It wouldn’t be the first time I misjudged my newfound mate.

The sugary scent is stronger now, more distinct. A fresh batch of biscuits just pulled from the oven, perhaps, or spiced cakes glazed with honey. Anticipation rises inside me. This could very well be the aroma that clung to my thief’s hair and clothes.

She could be in there right now. I circle the row of houses, looking for likely places she could be using to scale the walls and reach the rooftops.

There’s nothing on the front, not that I expected it.

She’s too savvy to be climbing in full view of her neighbors.

But as I round the corner building and come up to a more secluded, half-open courtyard, I see it.

There’s a downspout attached to one wall, perfectly innocuous at first sight, but when I walk closer to inspect it, I find a rope hanging next to it, hidden in its shadow.

It’s a sturdy one, with knots tied every two feet or so, to aid her in climbing.

This is it. I’m certain of it. I’ve found my thief’s home.

I curse myself for doubting my initial hunch. I should have circled the block the first time I came here, but I didn’t want another run-in with the city watch. I doubt Major Strah would have been impressed if I’d been hauled to the holding cells for disrupting the night peace.

I run back to the front of the shop, take a deep breath, and knock on the door, more softly this time.

Then I remember what I must look like and use the damp sleeve of my shirt to scrub my cheek quickly, wincing as it comes away dirty.

No one answers, so I bang on the door harder.

Someone must be inside, or there wouldn’t be a light.

Finally, footsteps sound behind the door.

“We’re not open yet,” a female voice calls. “Come back after the sixth bell.”

I can’t tell if it’s her, not through the door, but hope flares nonetheless.

“I’m not here for food. I need information about a woman I met today,” I call back, conscious that I’m making a racket again.

There’s a pause on the other side. “You’re in the wrong place. Goodbye!”