Page 18 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

Carrot and Stick

As Charlie poured water into the coffeepot, she waited for Red to tell her about Rose’s visit.

She waited through cooking eggs, through getting dressed and then imagining Adeline judging her clothes, then changing into ripped jeans and a t-shirt with the words GIVE ME COFFEE OR GIVE ME DEATH across her chest so that she could be sure Adeline hated it.

Everything would be fine if Red just gave his version of what happened the night before. If he admitted a shadow had come looking for him and offered to kill Charlie. If he told her something about Rose.

But he said nothing, looking out the window at the frozen lawn. The sunlight filtering through the curtains turned his hair to dark gold, limning his profile and filtering only slightly through his skin.

Perhaps it was impossible for him not to hate her, tethered together as they were. Perhaps, given his past experiences, it was impossible not to want her dead.

Tell me, she thought, before we have to go see Adeline.

As if equally miserable, the coffeepot made a rattling sound, then stopped working.

“Oh no,” said Posey, gazing at it despairingly. She was in a zipped-up plush pajama lounger with feet. “I needed that coffee.”

Charlie took out a saucepan from beneath the counter. “I think I can make some, cowboy style.”

Posey looked on with great skepticism. “I’d prefer barista style.”

“And yet, here we are.” Charlie poured the grounds into the saucepan, then filled it with water and gave the mixture a stir. “I need to ask you something. You know people in the local seeker community. Did you hear anything about those Grace Covenant murders?”

“The cult thing?” Posey sat down on a kitchen chair and looked around the room. “You ready to move next week? Everything’s done.”

Charlie was so unused to things working out—and especially unused to not being the one to make them work out—that for a moment, she didn’t quite understand what her sister was saying.

“We can be in the new place before Christmas? We don’t have to spend the holidays in Mom’s hotel room, cuddled up against stacks of Bob’s Magic cards? ”

Posey grinned. “That’s what I’m saying. Now, who’s your favorite sister?”

“You! You!” Charlie walked over and hugged her hard. “That’s fucking fantastic!”

Red turned away from the window, probably because they were very loud. After a moment, he gave her and Posey a slanted smile. “I can help,” he said, voice soft, as though not sure his entering the conversation would be welcome. “With moving boxes.”

Sometimes, it was so easy to see that he and Vince were the same person.

“And the heavy furniture,” Posey told him. “ Especially the heavy furniture. Good thing we have that van.”

“I hate to ask,” Charlie said, drawing away her sister’s attention. “But does your changing the subject mean you haven’t heard any rumors about the cult murders?”

“Actually, I did hear something,” Posey said. “Rooster Argent was supposed to be speaking.”

“You knew that?” Charlie asked, worried. The more people who knew, the faster that rumor would reach the authorities.

“He’s a big deal.” Posey rolled her eyes. “He makes TikToks about being an alterationist. Gives people tips on waking their shadows.”

“So he’s a scammer?” Claiming you could quicken shadows was the snake oil of the moment—preying on hopeful, desperate people the same way Rand had when he offered to contact their dearly departed.

“Stop being such a cynic,” Posey said, sticking her tongue out at Charlie. “You know you’re just trying to hide your gooey center.”

“Okay, then I’m surprised that the Cabals let this Rooster guy put their secrets out there on social media.” On the stove, the coffee came to a boil. She turned it off; she’d let it get too hot.

“He’s a good recruitment tool,” Posey said.

“Who’s the cynic now?” Charlie asked.

“The important thing is that I got us an apartment,” Posey said, preening.

“You got us an apartment!” Charlie cheered as she finished making the cowboy coffee, straining it through a paper towel. It came out as dark as her hair and only slightly flecked with grounds.

She poured three cups. Took a sip.

It tasted like ass.

Red drank some without seeming to note how terrible it was. He did, however, add a lot of cream.

Posey made a face. “Intense. Bitter.”

“Just like Charlie,” Red said, smiling wryly.

“Did you make a joke?” Posey asked, feigning astonishment.

Ha, ha, a funny guy with a plan to kill me, Charlie thought, feeling very bitter indeed.

He’d said he didn’t want her dead, he’d laughed at her jokes, he’d seemed to like her—but every minute that he didn’t take her aside and explain what had happened the night before made it harder to believe he didn’t intend her harm.

With a half-smile at Posey, Red set down his empty cup in the sink and headed for the door. Charlie grabbed her coat, then went back for her bag. She was scatterbrained with a combination of dread and lack of sleep.

By the time she got outside, Red had the hood of the van lifted and was poking at its innards.

Oh, that just figured.

“Battery’s dead,” Red said, wiping off his hands on a towel. “And that battery thing in the back with the jumper cables is dead too.”

Right, the battery thing in the back. The one that Vince used to plug in regularly and she’d totally forgotten. Truly, Charlie was god-tier when it came to fucking things up. The only thing she was better at was sulking about it.

“If you call Adeline, she’ll send someone to get us. Or we could skip the thing entirely.”

“ You call her,” Charlie snapped, shoving her phone at him.

He pressed his finger against the screen of her phone, but it no more registered his contact than the brush of an object. Then he seemed to shift somehow, concentrating on his hand, and it worked.

It rang, loud in the cold air. He’d put it on speakerphone. Adeline answered on the second ring.

“Charlie Hall,” she said. “No excuses. I expect you here within the hour.”

“This isn’t Charlie,” Red told her.

For a long moment, there was only silence. Then, in a much softer voice, Adeline said, “I didn’t expect you to call.”

“I imagine not.” Then, after a pause. “Send a car for us, won’t you, Addy?”

“Y-yes.” She sounded off-balance. Vulnerable.

He disconnected the call without explaining why he needed the car, or even where to send it.

Nonetheless, twenty minutes later, a sleek black town car appeared outside the door. Twenty minutes in which Red had, once again, told her absolutely nothing about Rose.

She had to admit to herself that she’d wanted him to react.

Her bad mood had, at least subconsciously, been in the hope he’d give her some kind of reassurance.

But that was foolish. He wasn’t going to tell her about the shadow girl and her offer.

He wasn’t going to tell Charlie he’d agreed to murder a gloamist.

Your ex-boyfriend is planning your murder with an accomplice, she admitted to herself. Really, you’re the only person this could happen to twice.

She had to keep her feelings to herself. Her anger wasn’t for display; this was the rage you ate and savored the flavor. This was fury you stoked to greater heights so that you could use it as fuel to do whatever would be necessary.

Charlie went out, and got into the vehicle. Red sat beside her in the back, looking thoughtful, as though he was working through a problem in his mind.

She smiled at him, playing along. She’d act the fool and let him steer her toward this assassination. Mark had caught her by surprise; she wouldn’t let Red do the same.

And so instead of sitting in hurt silence or digging her fingernails into the skin of her palm the whole ride to Salt’s estate, the way she wanted to, she opened up TikTok on her phone and searched for Rooster Argent.

His early videos were short, mostly pranking people by making his shadow misbehave in public or jump scare them.

Grocery stores were a favorite venue. He often had a friend named Archie with him, who mostly seemed to handle the filming, but who sometimes got involved in the pranks.

Then Archie was replaced by a girl who called herself Razor.

The pranks got meaner. Then Razor was gone and Rooster started making more “explaining what it’s like to be a gloamist” videos, including instruction in stuff like “how to feed your shadow without getting an infection” and “is it fun to have a shadow you can talk to or creepy to never be alone in your head,” a question that Charlie had a ready answer for in that moment.

Once the car passed through the open iron gates of Salt’s estate, she couldn’t help glancing up, her eyes searching for the roofline of the mansion through the trees.

Her heart hammered. As they wended their way up the drive, she began to feel ill with fear.

Memories of her childhood visit loomed, punctuated by all the death and horror of the last time she’d been on the grounds.

By the point Salt’s mansion came into view, it seemed as though her skin was too tight and she might have to claw her way free of it.

It was the same fairy-tale castle that had haunted her childhood. Gray stone, covered in withered vines of Boston ivy. Bronze gargoyles, their bodies green with verdigris, leered down from the roof. Everything about the place felt wrong.

When she and Rand had come here that terrible night, it had been with the plan of convincing Salt they were occultists.

They thought they could get him and his friends to pay for access to the “beyond.” Rand, with his stupid waxed moustache and tweed jackets and swindler’s overconfidence.

She recalled Rand in her dream, with the burning cigar poised over his hand.

The car stopped and the driver turned around in the seat.