Page 53 of Wolf of Ashes
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find Diavolo leaning over the table in the kitchen, a large piece of paper spread out across the wooden surface. A bowl rests to the left of the paper and an old tome sits on the right.
He’s stayed in his brown-eyed form, but his sleeves are rolled up and his shirt is now unbuttoned at the top.
The panthers have found themselves places on the plush lounge chairs nearby. I take note of the fact that they’ve retained their dog-like forms for nearly twenty-four hours, so the longevity of the keeper’s illusion magic seems strong.
“I found a map of New York city,” he says without looking up. On the next beat, he points to the bowl. “That’s cereal for you to eat.” And then the tome. “This is the witch’s grimoire. But the assassins must have cleaned out all of her supplies because I can’t find a wand or any potions anywhere. I’ll have to fashion some sort of illusion wand to mask how I’m really creating magic.”
He taps the map. “Now. Show me all the places you know.”
Scooping up the bowl and trying not to get distracted by the first mouthful of puffy squares of sugary deliciousness, I lean in close to Diavolo and take quick stock of the map.
It’s elaborate and detailed, but Mom made me memorize all the landmarks and it appears that most of the structures have remained the same as what she described.
“Here,” I say, balancing the bowl in one hand while I point at the corner of a block that sits three blocks east of the Hudson River. “There’s a tavern called the White Wing. It’s one of the more public places where the empire conducts business. The front is a regular restaurant, but Mom told me there’s a green door on the far side that will let us in to the space behind it. The empire exists behind doors and in dark places, but this tavern won’t be as difficult to enter as some of the other places and, at the very least, we can gather information while we’re there.”
I’m suddenly aware that the keeper isn’t looking at the map anymore.
“Are you paying attention?” I ask, glancing up at him.
“Very much so,” he says, his focus lingering on my face. “You clean up nicely.”
I purse my lips at him before I put the bowl back on the table. “Flattery is a tool,” I say. “I’m not sure why you’re trying to use it on me.”
In fact, he’s tried it a few times now. Implying that he likes the shape of my lips. Calling me ‘stunning.’ Talking about beautiful darkness.
He steps closer and his features flicker a little, a brief hint of those powerful, blue eyes shining through. “Maybe I’m simply speaking the truth.”
I consider him carefully. “Truth is never simple.”
His eyebrows arch. “Isn’t it?”
I dismiss his question because debating the nature of truth will only sidetrack us.
Turning my attention back to the map, I trace my fingertip along the roads leading away from the White Wing Tavern. “There are underground tunnels through here and here, so we need to be careful we don’t make too much of a splash or they’ll very quickly call in reinforcements.”
“Okay, then,” Diavolo says, stepping back again. “Choose your appearance and I’ll take you straight there.”
Now, I allow myself to smile because I’ve decided how I want to look.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Istep from the emerald mist, this time landing neatly on my feet with the four panthers at my side and Diavolo behind me.
I cast him a quick, backward glance, and he responds with a smirk. He’s getting better at translocating us without mishaps.
Quickly ascertaining that we’re alone in the service alley at the side of the tavern, I take a moment to orient myself. The space is dark enough to be comfortable, but it isn’t the brightness so much as sounds and smells that are likely to become a problem for me.
Luckily, I found all sorts of solutions to my sensory issues among the witch’s belongings. A masquerade mask has provided me with a more acceptable blindfold to wear in public—not that I knew what to call it until Diavolo told me—and he obliged me by using his power to fuse gauzy cloth over the eye holes.
For my ears, I made earplugs out of one of the witch’s beeswax candles. My hearing is sensitive enough for me to pick up the sounds around me without being overwhelmed by what will be an inevitable mash of music, voices, footfalls, vehicles, and… sex? Assuming that’s what I’m hearing from the building up and to my right. Who knows, I could be wrong, but Mom didn’t hold back on telling me all the things in that regard.
Carefully, I take my first steps along the alley.
Diavolo follows at my back, his agreed-upon persona firmly in place: the tall, muscular one with the brown hair, brown eyes, and light-brown skin. I considered asking him to wear his blue-eyed, black-haired persona, but he only seems to shift into that form when his mood is at its darkest. I need him to be completely in control of his emotions for the path ahead.
He’s dressed in a suit and carries a black wand in a holster beneath his jacket—it’s an illusion, but he’ll be able to pretend it’s the conduit for his magic.
For myself, I chose an appearance close to my real coloring to ensure the magic of the illusion lasts as long as possible. My hair is now all black and my eyes, if they could be seen behind the gauze, are slate gray. My chin is delicate, my cheekbones softer, and my neck slightly more slender. I’ve combined my appearance with a low-cut, black top and black pants, finishing off the look with sandals I’ll be able to slip off quickly if I need to run.
