Page 57 of Thief of Night (The Charlatan Duology #2)

But now, this was what he was. If no one stopped him, there would be more murders in church basements. More dead-and-bled innocents with convenient apartments. More shadows shackled to his madness.

But how could she stop him? She wasn’t a gloamist.

Charlie looked out the small window. She might be able to wriggle through it, but they seemed to be on the third floor, with a steep drop.

“If you don’t come out, I’ll send Archer in,” Rosalva said.

“I’m pissing,” Charlie shouted back and then actually used the toilet. When she was done, she washed her hands and drank five handfuls of water straight from the tap. Then she perched on the edge of the tub and lifted her shirt.

There, pressed beneath the underwire of her bra, cushioned between her breasts, rested the glass scroll-like vial with a single shadow trapped inside.

She had no idea if it was strong enough to be a Blight, but if Mark found it, he would bind it to him and she couldn’t risk that.

The scroll was stoppered at both ends with wax sealing it airtight.

Taking a toothpick out of the medicine cabinet, she stabbed at one end, scraping off enough wax to pop out the stopper.

Perhaps Charlie’s hands were damp with sweat. They were probably unsteady. Maybe she just wasn’t careful enough. The scroll slipped out of her fingers, shattering on the bathroom floor.

“What was that?” Rosalva demanded.

“Sorry,” Charlie called back. “I knocked over a glass.”

A new shadow stood in the room, a darkness against the tiles that wasn’t there before.

“Hi,” Charlie whispered to it.

“I hope you’re finished,” Rosalva scolded.

Charlie lifted up a shard of glass and cut her palm.

It hurt much more than the razor. Then she held out her cupped hands.

“In the direction of the mountain, there’s a place called Solaluna.

Once you make it there, there’s a shadow named Red.

Find him and he can help you get back to your person, if that’s what you want.

And if you don’t, he can help you learn how to survive like this. ”

The shadow slid away from her. She had no idea if it had understood her.

“Be careful,” she whispered after it.

“Ch ar lie,” came the singsong voice of the NeverMan from outside of the window, a shadow stretching across it. She jumped in surprise, and was suddenly very glad she hadn’t even tried getting out that way.

Taking a deep breath, she opened the bathroom door to see Archer and Rosalva. She stepped through Rosalva and went back to the couch, picking up the phone.

“That wasn’t nice,” Rosalva said.

“Oh, we’re being nice now, are we?” Charlie asked before she thought better of it. She needed Rosalva on her side, if that was at all possible. “I’m sorry. I opened the door to the bedroom, thinking it was the bathroom. All the blood upset me. And then I broke the glass and cut myself.”

“There are a lot of us,” Rosalva said, sounding defensive. “We’re always hungry.”

Charlie shook her head. “It’s not you I blame.” That wasn’t entirely true, but all of those bound to Mark were stolen shadows. Whatever they’d been before, they didn’t deserve to be gorged on terror.

She couldn’t help thinking of Red, being force-fed the lives of others. He wasn’t what he was made to do. Maybe they weren’t either.

She just hoped that he and Posey were okay.

Charlie picked up the phone. “It looks like there’s an alley a couple of streets down. I am going to suggest that Mr. Punch meet me there.”

Rosalva peered at the map. But before she could answer, Mark walked into the room. He had a take-out bag with him, grease darkening a corner of it.

“You haven’t called yet?” he asked.

Charlie shook her head as she tapped out the number.

“Put it on speakerphone,” Mark said.

Taking a deep breath, she did as he asked. Now that she’d deleted the contact, once it connected, it didn’t display a name.

“Charlie?” Malhar asked, obvious relief in his voice. “What happened? Are you okay?”

In the background, she could hear people speaking over one another.

“I’m fine, Fred. Please put Mr. Punch on,” she said as clearly as she could without seeming unnatural.

There was a silence at that. Please, she thought. Please understand what I am trying to tell you.

“Hold on,” Malhar said.

A few moments later, Red’s voice came over the line. “Hello.”

Charlie bit the inside of her cheek to keep from sobbing with relief. He was alive.

A glance over at Mark showed that he was tense, but not yet suspicious. Mr. Punch was secretive and he had Rooster for a middleman. The chance that Mark wouldn’t recall the exact timbre of his voice was high, but not nothing.

“You’ve got to help me,” Charlie said. “I don’t have long. I made it out of the house, but I can’t see his shadows moving in the dark.”

Red spoke. “Everyone was very worried. Everyone but me. I’m angry, Charlie. I don’t need a Hierophant who can’t handle herself.” The coldness in his voice was a slap in the face.

“I need to get out of here. Please.” It wasn’t hard to let panic come into her voice. “He hurt me.”

“Tell me where you are.” Before, she’d said he was good at playing a role. Now she saw he could play more than one, because there wasn’t a hint of warmth in his voice.

“There’s a sign near me that says Maple Lane. You have to promise you’re coming right now,” Charlie said. “Or I’ll make another phone call. I’ll tell Vicereine everything. We’ll go down together.”

“You don’t need to threaten me. I’m getting in my car,” he said, voice icy. “Stay on the line.”

“I don’t want to chance anyone spotting me because of my phone. Flash your headlights twice when you get here and I’ll know it’s you,” she told him.

There was a long silence from the other end of the line. “Be careful, Charlie,” he said.

“There are so many shadows. Please just come soon.” She pressed the button to disconnect the call.

Mark studied her, then reached out his hand for her phone. She gave it to him.

“I told you that I could get him to come here,” she said, but her voice shook. Now she had to convince him to keep her alive. “And I can get him out of the car too. You still need me.”

“Then you better have something to eat,” Mark said, putting the bag of food between them on the table. “We’ve got fifteen minutes until go time.”

He’d gotten fish and chips. Charlie dragged a few fries through the tartar sauce. She could barely manage to choke anything down.

You’re fucked, Charlie Hall. And now you dragged Red into your mess.

She tried to tell herself that this was just another con. She had to misdirect Mark. Keep him off-balance. And then get the hell away from him when Red arrived. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t conned a homicidal maniac before. Salt certainly qualified.

But back then she’d had time to plan. She’d been prepared. Maybe this was Charlie Hall, finally getting what she deserved. The bullet to the head she’d dodged, taking a year to boomerang around.

“Eat something,” Mark told her.

She took another fry, but she still couldn’t bear to take a bite. “So what happens after you kill Mr. Punch?”

He gave her a considering look. “Then Vicereine. For cutting off my fingers.”

“And then you’ll have to skip town.” She crossed her arms under her breasts, so they were on more prominent display. “If you forgave me, I could come with you.”

His gaze dropped, as she’d hoped. Her heart thundered. If Mark thought she was trying to play him, he’d kill her—and she was trying to play him. She needed to be left unrestrained if she was going to escape.

“You don’t mean that,” he said.

“I admire ambition,” said Charlie, hoping he believed her. “And obsession.”

“Not a lot rattles you,” he said. “It’d be good to have someone like that to travel with. Someone they could feed on. I can always kill you later.”

“Where are you planning to go?” She kept her eyes on him, and tried to make them soft with admiration.

He grinned. “Maybe get out of the U.S. Let the rich and powerful come to me for shadows. We could go to Dubai. The Maldives. Egypt.”

“A good place for a god,” she said, heart pounding.

At that, his smile widened. Mark must have been alone for a long time, harvesting for Rooster.

And as he got more shadows, he must have struggled more and more to keep it together.

He would have unnerved everyone he met. Part of the reason he hadn’t killed her yet was probably because he enjoyed talking with someone. “You got a passport?”

As Mark lit another cigarette and wiped the fried fish grease off his mouth with the back of his sleeve, the depressing thought came to Charlie that she probably had more in common with him than with Remy Vincent Carver. “No, but I know a guy who can get passports from the Solomon Islands.”

“That would work,” he said.

Charlie leaned forward to take one of his cigarettes and light it in shaking fingers. She hated the taste, but had smoked enough weed not to cough.

Still holding the cigarette in one hand, she palmed his lighter. Then she went into the bathroom, washed her hands, and picked up the body spray on her way out, shoving it down her shirt, concealed between her boobs in almost the exact spot the scroll had been.

“When Mr. Punch pulls up, I’ll call from the alley. As soon as he gets out of the car, you’ll be able to handle him, right?”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. It had been the wrong thing to say, the misstep that might have doomed her. “Don’t like the sight of blood?” he asked.

“I’m not a gloamist,” Charlie said. “That’s all.”

He glared. “I don’t have to tie you up again, do I?”

Charlie shook her head.