Steeling myself, I nod and kiss him on the cheek. I’d like to do more with him, as I’ve been doing with my other mates, but now is not the time. I’ve been neglecting my people for my own selfish causes.
And now one of my friends might be in danger because of my neglect.
Two more days pass fruitlessly. My concern is turning into full-blown panic. I have search parties going all hours of the day and night—Sisters and Grimsons during the daylight hours when my vampires can’t roam the Floorboards without turning into living torches.
I even get Antones out of his hovel for a short stint, and we work on speaking with commoners, trying to figure out Imis’ last known locations.
On that second afternoon, just past midday, I recall Zefyra’s words from months back.“Don’t be surprised if you start to hear of people missing from your city.”
It chills me to the bone. I start to wonder if we didn’t do a good enough job of eradicating all the sex slavers in Nuhav.Or is there something evenmorenefarious going on here?
When I gather with my search party to close out the day and trade information, we learn Zefyra’s words came true: There are more people missing than just Imis. She seems to have been swept up in some sort of targeted attack. At least that’s my opinion. Antones thinks I’m being rash and jumping to conclusions.
“We need to follow the leads, not our hearts,” he says.
We’re walking through the bazaar I used to steal from as a whelp. Stalls are closing down, carts are being drawn closed, and windows are shuttered. There’s no central leadership to enact a curfew, but I daresay if there was ever time for one, it would be now.
“Fine,” I say, “then let’s follow the leads. Who else do we have missing?”
Antones says, “There’s Burrington the tailor.” He kicks a cart as we pass it—presumably Burrington’s—that’s been shutdown for days.
Aleth, the freckled Chained Sister who joined our search this afternoon, quips from the back of the group, “Physalia, too. Butcher’s daughter.”
“Kern’s girl?” asks Skent. The wiry young man—whose ass I put on the ground during sparring—has grown a certain admiration for me. He sounds worried, as if he and Kern’s girl have a thing.
“No, the other butcher. One down Green Road.”
“Ah. Okay. Thank the True.”
“Wrong answer, Skent!” Aleth smacks him across the back of the head.
“Ow!” Skent whines. He jogs up to the front of the group alongside me. Ever since I embarrassed him in front of his friends, and also taught him something worthwhile, he’s tried to impress me. Puffing his chest out, lifting his clean-shaven face, trying to grow a beard he can’t grow. “The flower girl too, Sephania. She’s been missing a week. What is it, Nin?”
“Nym,” Aleth corrects behind us.
I turn away from the group, facing forward, trying to think deeper on the subject without the young grimmers distracting me by riling each other up.
“Artin, a Bronzeman,” Antones says, tapping his chin. “Which means a conspiracy involving the Bronzes as culprits is unlikely.”
“Oh, and Tannan! Can’t forget him. He’s Nym’s beau,” Skent says excitedly. “Big strong lad. Probably not taken easily. They went missing at the same time.”
“We can’t be sure anyone’s beentaken,” Antones scold. “Let’s not assume, Skent.”
I say, “He’s right though. People like Tannan and the Bronze boy, Artin? Not your typical missing persons.”
“Could be Tannan stole Nym,” Aleth muses.
“That makes no sense, you dumb guttergirl,” Skent scoffs.
I smack him on the shoulder, eliciting another gruff whine as he massages his arm. “Don’t call her that.”
“Spirits and deities, we have a handful,” Ant mumbles. He’s not tapping his chin now, he’s massaging it. Deep in thought. Ignoring us. He’s probably smarter than me, so I don’t mind passing on this conundrum to him.
“Imis, Burrington, Physalia, Artin, Nym, Tannan,” he chants. “Different ages, different walks of life. Different professions.Different sexes. Even different sections of the city. What connects them all?”
I know Kern the butcher and the other slaughterer on Green Road, but I don’t know these names well enough to infer. “No idea. It’s perplexing and vexing.”
“Ha, that rhymed, Lady Seph,” Skent says with a grin.