Page 3 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

Tame

Bellamy had explained how it was going to go once he’d accepted that Charlie would be the next Hierophant.

They’d been in the abandoned watchtower in Holyoke.

That’s the place where the faction of the Cabals who called themselves masks and focused on obscure theories of shadowcraft used as their stronghold.

Malik had been there, representing the puppeteers, Cabal members who used their shadows to control people.

So had Vicereine, of the alterationists, who could reshape shadows—along with the nature of those bound to them.

And Bellamy, of course, the mask leader.

Three factions, representing three of the four aspects of shadow magic.

The last, carapace, masters of physical shadow magic, went unrepresented.

Five years she’d be the Hierophant, they’d told her. Three if she did particularly good work or if someone else pissed them off enough to be up for the position. “You’ll be happy to see the back of me faster than that,” Charlie had said, figuring some swagger never hurt.

“Don’t push your luck,” Malik had told her.

They’d give her the necessary supplies for the job, and she’d even earn a bounty on every Blight.

A bit of cash for cat-sized ones and enough money for the human-sized ones that if she dispatched one every month and a half, she could probably afford to quit Rapture.

Of course, if there was a human-sized one terrorizing the locals every month and a half, it was possible she had a bigger problem.

“Give us your oath,” he’d said. “And we’ll give you the Blight.”

So Charlie had looked into their eyes and promised to serve out her sentence for past wrongs by hunting down rogue shadows.

Moments after, they’d brought out Vince, wrapped in chains of onyx. His eyes burned like living coals. She hadn’t been afraid of him then. She’d thought he was only angry because he hadn’t wanted her to tie herself to him, to the Cabals, to that mess.

Back then, she thought she’d won. Outwitted them all.

Stolen her lover back from under their noses.

And she’d been certain she’d go on winning.

That whatever bargain the Cabals made with her was going to be like one of those deal-with-the-devil ballads, where the fiddler triumphed in the end through talent and cleverness.

Charlie Hall, drunk on love.

Vicereine had formed a needle from her own shadow, pinching off a little at the edge. Then she seemed to reach into Vince and pulled on a piece of him. He gave a hiss when she touched him, as though what she’d done hurt. He was the sort of person who hid discomfort, so it must have really hurt.

“What are you doing?” Charlie demanded. “Stop it.”

“Preparing to bind him to you,” Vicereine told her, rolling a little bit of what she took into thread and handing over the rest to Bellamy. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“It doesn’t have to be like that,” Charlie said.

“Ah, but it does,” Bellamy said, rolling the piece of shadow into a scroll-like stone tube. “With what we took of your Blight, we can track him should he ever attempt to disappear. And we can use it against him in other ways if that’s necessary.”

“It will keep you safer, us having it,” said Malik. “Remember, he has only ever been bound to his creator. He might chafe at being yours. He might even come to wish you harm.”

“Not everyone is like you,” Charlie had told him.

“No one is like me,” said Malik, with a self-important smile. “Now, remember, he will be able to hear you when you speak, even if he isn’t manifested. As a shadow, he’s always present. Never forget that.”

“Right,” Charlie said uneasily.

“Emotions might also bleed through, if they’re very strong, but he won’t be able to pick through your thoughts unless you send them at him.”

Well, that was a relief. Maybe it wasn’t going to be as bad as she’d feared.

“What about memories?” she found herself asking.

“He’s not your shadow, so there is a limit to the connection you can have with him. He’s not going to grow to become more like you. If you give him memories, he can absorb energy from them and experience them in that moment, but they won’t become his memories.”

That was also a relief.

Still, she couldn’t help wondering whether, in the night, he’d be able to rummage around in her dreams.

Stop being paranoid, she told herself. Vince would never do that.

Of course, if he did, if he even could, it’s not like she would know.

Malik went on, hands behind his back as he paced. “The most important thing—the thing you must do—is give him your blood regularly. Every day would be best, but every few days at least. That’s the only way to keep the connection strong enough for you to command him.”

He stopped and looked her directly in the eye.

“And never forget—he’s not a person, he’s a Blight.

You must control him, Charlie Hall. If you don’t—if we ever find that the tether has been broken or he’s acting independently, you will both lose the chance we’re generously granting you. And you will lose him, permanently.”

“Meaning what, exactly?” Charlie asked. “Spell it out.”

“Let’s leave it just as I said it.”

Vince looked at Malik with those burning eyes and smiled. “I will be tame for Charlie,” he’d said.

But Red didn’t recall making that promise. Once she and Vince were bound, he went silent. Outside, as she walked to her car through falling snow, she’d tried to cajole him, thinking he was mad at her for making a sacrifice of herself. Tried to tempt him with fresh blood squeezed from a finger.

And then those first words echoing in her mind. You’re not Remy. That voice, soft with menace. His body, forming out of shadow with no recognition in his burning eyes. Triumph souring in her mouth.

Charlie thought of that night often, wondering over the piece of Vince that had been taken from him. As far as she could tell, he’d lost more than a year of memories. Maybe if she could get that part of his shadow back, she would get Vince with it.