Page 35 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

She followed his voice to the kitchen. There, she found a beautiful, huge espresso machine resting on a marble island next to a bunch of stacked BAPE camo mugs. Pulling her gaze from it, she saw Red with a laptop covered in skater stickers.

She raised her eyebrows. After all, it seemed impossible that Mr. Punch hadn’t been here already, hadn’t looked through Rooster’s things before he set her on this trail. A laptop would be the first thing he checked, assuming he’d found one.

“Under the floorboards. Password was ‘PASSWORD.’” Red turned it toward her. “Look at this.”

He indicated the folder on the desktop that was marked BLACKMAIL MATERIAL.

“Seriously? He just put that there?” Of course, what in this apartment would make Charlie think Rooster wouldn’t have done that? This was a guy with PASSWORD for his password. On the other hand, this was also a guy who’d managed to conceal his laptop from everyone but a living shadow.

“I think it’s meant to be ironically unironic,” Red said. “But there are real recordings in here. Recent ones too.”

“Holy shit,” Charlie said, reaching over to the second to last, labeled PUNCH.

It started midconversation.

A voice Charlie didn’t recognize spoke. Our harvester is gone. I need you to do the job.

I never signed up for that . She could hear Rooster’s nervous breaths.

You’re the architect of this problem. Now solve it. That had to be Mr. Punch speaking. The real Mr. Punch. She paid attention to the sound of his voice. It reminded her of someone.

It’s not how this works. I cut you in on this. If Rooster belonged to the puppeteers, he’d have worked for Malik until very recently. Maybe they’d had a system.

Quit whining and get the fucking shadows, Mr. Punch told him.

What if he goes to Vicereine? Rooster said.

Mr. Punch laughed. Him? He can’t. And neither can you. Then silence.

Charlie looked at the timestamp. The conversation took place three days before the massacre at Grace Covenant.

There was only one other file in the BLACKMAIL folder with a timestamp after that one. She hit play.

Where are you? Rooster asked. You fucker. They’re going to kill you for this.

Then came a weird, hollow laugh. It shivered down Charlie’s spine.

The recording ended, leaving her to ponder how these new pieces fit together.

She went to the refrigerator, trying to get a sense of the last time Rooster had come to this place.

There wasn’t much inside—a carton of milk that was sour when she brought it to her nose.

Wilted lettuce. A block of Gruyère. A package of ham that smelled off.

A bottle of unopened Moet that was probably just fine.

“I think he’s dead,” Charlie said, turning back toward Red.

He was lounged in the kitchen chair, looking too big for it, long limbs crossed at the ankles. “So where’s the body?”

She played that final recording again. That laugh made her think of the way Mark had laughed that final time they’d spoken, before he’d conspired with his brother to murder her.

Charlie met Red’s eyes. “This guy sounds like he’d know.”

Balthazar jerked open his door, glaring down at Charlie and then turning that glare on Red.

She pushed past him and into the flat. He was shirtless, his hair messy as though he’d just come from bed.

“Am I interrupting something?” she asked.

He folded his arms over his bare chest. “Is there a reason you’re in my house, Charlie Hall? And is it a reason I am going to hate or merely dislike?”

She put her backpack down on the table. “The Blight you wanted.” The creature inside moved at the sound of her voice, wriggling.

He blinked at her. “But I just… that conversation was only days ago.”

“I work fast. You know that.” She tried not to look excessively smug.

“Okay,” he said, smoothing back his hair in a way that indicated some level of freaking out. “Okay. Can I see it?”

For the second time that night, Charlie opened her backpack to reveal the Blight. Then she dumped it, in the onyx netting bound with zip ties, onto Balthazar’s couch.

He studied the shadow creature as it attempted to fight its way free. “Lively,” he said.

“All things considered, it’s fairly friendly,” Charlie told him. “More curious than murderous.”

“Equal parts, at least,” put in Red.

“So,” Charlie said. “Would you like me to sew it on you?”

A man’s voice sounded from the hall. “Balthazar, I thought you were—”

A familiar voice.

“Is that Bellamy ?” Charlie said, dropping her voice to a whisper. She remembered Red saying they met up behind Rapture. Apparently, they met up other places as well.

“You better go,” Balthazar said, lowering his voice too. “I can take it from here.”

“What if he finds out?” Charlie demanded, partially because this was an important question and partially because she wanted to know if Bellamy had been selling Blights and Balthazar knew it.

“Then I will lie about where it came from,” Balthazar promised, herding her and Red toward the door.

“One more thing,” Charlie said. “Remember when you said Rooster Argent was scheduled to talk at some wellness retreat upstate? Do you remember the place it’s being held?”

“Solaluna. Now, goodbye.” He shut the door in her face.

Charlie turned to meet Red’s gaze.

Solaluna, like the matchbook they found next to the stubbed-out cigarettes in Hatfield. Solaluna, where Rooster was supposed to quicken the shadows of the wealthy and powerful. Solaluna, which might be at the center of everything.