A Sea of Purple Ink (11 page)

15

“Let’s get this out of the way,” Tyrone said, standing up. With one motion, he swept his arm across the tabletop, sending plates and platters of crumbs crashing to the floor.

Reese jumped at the noise, then focused on taming the flare-up of calculations. She felt tired. Far more tired than she had been for years.

Tyrone flopped the cover of the book open, revealing a stack of folded brown parchment. “Mainland Harbor, King’s theater,” he muttered as he flipped through the crackling sheets. Then he snorted. “Old family house.” He picked the offending map up between finger and thumb and flicked it onto the table. “If I ever go back there it’ll be to hang myself.” He cleared his throat and picked up another map. “Ah, here we are. But before we begin,” he said, pressing one hand down on top of the maps and looking at Reese, “you never told me you were in Sea Level Prison.” His voice carried a plaintive note.

“I wasn’t supposed to be,” Reese replied. Her stomach clenched at the bitter taste in her mouth. “The king gave my father and me a special amnesty that let us stay on the island if we wanted.” Anger roiled up at the memory. “Then police broke into the house. They arrested him and carried him away.” She scowled down at the table. “We had a signed paper from the king, but they said he had changed his mind.” The room seemed to grow cold. Reese kept her gaze on the table. “I knew where they were going, so I got a gun out of our cellar and followed them.” She felt her mind begin to speed up.
Stay calm. It’s just a memory.

She forced a weak smile. “That was my first experience using my skills on the wrong side of the law.” Reese tapped the edge of the table. “A twelve-year-old girl with a gun. I got all the way in. Right into the heart of the prison.” A sob rose in her throat. “He was dead. But it wasn’t right. It wasn’t an execution.” She leaned back in her chair, feeling the old anger and fear. Bile rose in her mouth. “The police had just… killed him. I had to run. I barely made it back out of the prison.” She stretched one hand and felt the scarred muscle on her upper right arm. “The next morning is when we met.”

Revelation shone in Tyrone’s eyes. “When I ran into you in that shed? Little Reese, looking like something the tide washed in.” His mouth hung open for a moment, then a teasing light sprang into his face. “I seem to make a habit out of finding you plastered in fog and running for your life.” He grinned. “I don’t know how you managed during these last few years.”

Reese tensed. “I managed,” she said. She straightened in her seat and held out a hand. “Give me the map.”

Slowly, Tyrone held out the folded paper. “It was a joke,” he said. “You can laugh.”

Reese hesitated a moment, unsure of what to say. She took the map. The brown parchment crackled in her fingers as she spread it on the table and let the ink stains burn into her memory.

Beside her, Tyrone gave a frustrated sigh. He strode to the door and pulled it a few inches open. “Daro?” he called. “Some more coffee, if you can find some.” He swung around to lean his back against the wall, arms folded. “I have a feeling this will take all night.”

It will if you keep talking while I’m trying to think.
Reese ran her finger along the map, tracing the outer boundary of the prison complex.
If we can hide in the old shipping ports, we should be able to reach the cliff gate when it gets dark.
She frowned in concentration as the data streams mounted.
Hopefully they still use wheel locks. What kind of guns do we have available?

Tyrone’s voice cut in on her plans. “You know I won’t be able to help you with this, right, Reese?”

Calculations stalled. Reese looked up from the map. The merchant stood on the other side of the table, leaning his elbows on the back of a carved wooden chair.

He met her gaze for a moment, then looked away. “I can’t just go bursting into a prison with you,” he said. His long fingers twitched. “I’m still a merchant, I have some good connections in the royal court. I’ve even got an invitation to the royal ball.” His shoulders slumped, and for a moment he looked like a dejected shadow of himself. “If I’m seen helping you…”

A cold, hard knot settled in Reese’s stomach. “You’re leaving me to do this myself?” Fear snaked through her mind.
I can’t do it on my own. I nearly died the first time.

Tyrone dragged his gaze back to hers. “Believe me, I don’t want to,” he said. Helplessness flickered across his pale face. “You know what would happen if I lost the company.”

We’d lose our primary smuggler.
“Yes,” Reese answered automatically. It made sense. It was the logical answer. She turned back to the map, blinking hard against the sudden tears.
Accept it and move on.
A dry sob caught in her throat.

With a loud creak, the door swung open, and the king stepped into the room. “You wanted this?” he asked, holding up a clay pitcher. His linen shirt hung loose, the knots at his throat half-untied.

Not Joplin. Not now.
Reese bent her focus to the map.
I can’t think about him.
She heard Tyrone step away from the table.

“Right over here,” the merchant said. “Bring any extra cups?”

I’ll have to find a place closer to the gates to hide, or I won’t make it across all that open space before they see me.

Glasses clinked. “Brought two.” Joplin’s husky voice filled Reese’s ears. It sounded very innocent. Almost too innocent. “And Daro said something about an inspection?”

Tyrone snorted. “They’re threatening to come back and move everything around again.” Coffee poured into a cup. “If I get you a crew of men with hair on their chests, could you put the warehouse to rights tomorrow?” The cups clinked again. “Here, give this to Reese.”

The inky lines seemed to blur before Reese’s gaze. She heard footsteps approaching. Could feel him getting nearer. Then a hand pushed a mug of steaming liquid toward her. Reese’s breath caught in her throat, and she looked up into the smiling gaze of the king. Her words stuck in her mouth. “Thank you,” she managed.

Joplin nodded. His tousled red-brown hair brushed forward into his eyes. “You’re welcome,” he said. Then his expression turned serious. “Are you doing better now?” he asked, lowering himself into the chair opposite. “When we got back from the tavern you looked like you wanted to kill someone.”

Reese’s head felt as if it would explode. The prison break plans, Tyrone’s glimmers of love, and the question of the king swirled in a mind-numbing cacophony. She could feel herself slipping dangerously near to overdrive.
I need resolution on something. Now.
Beneath the table, her grip tightened on the chair.

“Hold it!” Tyrone exclaimed. He strode to the table, glass in hand. “I have an idea. Why don’t you take Joplin on that little excursion you’re planning?” He beamed down at Reese as if he had solved the world’s problems. “I could spare him for a day or so, and I’m sure he’d be glad to help.”

Reese bit her tongue, fighting back a curse.
Not that. I can’t deal with that.
She fumbled for her cup of coffee, stalling for time as her mind sped up.
If he’s in league with Stryker it could be suicide.
Reese picked up the cup.
But it could be suicide to leave him behind. If he’s with me, at least I have a chance at shutting him up before he betrays us.
Warmth seeped through the cup and into her hand. A
nd if any police see me with him, well, I could use him as leverage.
Reese caught her breath as an idea materialized.
Police. A reader might be able to tell me what’s going on. Or at the very least whether this man is really who he seems to be.

In front of her, Joplin glanced at Tyrone, then back at her questioningly. “I suppose I could help,” he said. “What do we need to do?”

“I’m going to rescue my friends,” Reese said. She met the king’s gaze, trying once more to delve into the secrets that lurked behind his smile. “And you’re going to help me.”
Even if I have to use you as a hostage.
Reese took a long drink. Warnings were ricocheting around her head.
But first I’m going to find some answers about you, and about this Stryker. And I think I know who to ask.

16

The apartment hallways were blessedly empty. Reese checked her gun as she eased up the last stairway, letting the torn rug absorb her footsteps.

Joplin followed close behind, hovering inches off the floor.

Somewhere, people were arguing. Reese could hear their tense voices seeping through the walls. Deep brown water stains marked the walls and pooled on the carpet. A faint smell of mold hung in the air. Reese slid the gun back into her pocket as she neared the cracked window at the end of the hall. “You wait here,” she murmured to the king. She studied the wooden door in the wall. “Try to stay away from the window, and keep your back to the doorway.”

Joplin nodded.

Reese laid one hand on the doorknob. “If he sees your face, he might be able to report you,” she added.
And me.
“Got it?”

The king nodded again and turned to face down the hallway.

Reese pushed her focus beyond the door. Silence.
He may or may not be home.
She let out a long breath, then gave the knob an experimental turn. The metal creaked and stuck.
It’s not locked.
She took a step back.
Is he expecting company?
She moved to a position behind the heavy doorframe and gave the door a slow push. Nothing moved inside.

Reese drew her gun and edged around the frame, scanning the room for occupants. Old bottles and dirty clothes littered the few armchairs. Smoke stains marred the ceiling.
Empty. He must be at his desk.

A creak came from the inner room.

Reese glided across the room on tiptoe.

The sound came again, this time with footsteps.

It’s just him.
Reese put her back to the wall beside the inner door and waited. The footsteps came closer, then the door opened.
He doesn’t have a gun.
Reese swung to her right, gun at the ready, and came face to face with the startled tenant.

The portly man froze. “What is this?” he stammered. His police uniform jacket hung slack on his shoulders, revealing the grease-stained shirt beneath. A few stubbled grey hairs peppered his temples and chin, and his eyes shone dark in the faint light from the shuttered window.

“Get back in the room, Arrow,” Reese ordered. “I’m asking the questions.”

The color slowly drained from the man’s face. “What are you trying to do?” he hissed. He took a few steps backwards, his gaze flickering toward the doorway. “If my captain finds out I’ve been—”

“The sooner you cooperate, the sooner I’ll be gone,” Reese said. She followed him into the ratty bedroom, gun in hand. “Sit down by the desk.”

The police reader dropped into his chair. “Reese, I swear, I don’t know what you want.”

“Just truthful answers.” Reese pushed the door almost closed, then settled into a solid stance, gun trained on the reader’s chest. “What are the police up to?” she demanded. “Who is this Stryker?”

Arrow’s pale face turned a shade paler.

Faint footsteps crossed the floor of the apartment above. The reader glanced upward and cringed.

That can’t be who he’s expecting.
Reese focused on the man’s face. “Your time is ticking, Arrow,” she warned.

Sweat beaded on the reader’s forehead. He swallowed hard. “He’s one of us,” he said. “Kind of the chief-in-command over our division now that Brandon’s dead.”

Reese hesitated.
Brandon, the murdered chief of police. That could use some questions, too.
She stared hard at the reader. “What’s the official word on that?”

“He’s definitely dead.” A sarcastic smile crossed Arrow’s face, then faded away. “I saw the body myself. He was practically inside out.”

Sounds like shifter street fighting.
“You don’t seem that broken up about it.”

Arrow’s gaze flicked away. “He never liked us readers.” He gave Reese a quick glance. “We didn’t like him, either.”

“And is there a new plan to try to catch me? Something involving a flyer?”

A mask seemed to spring up over the informant’s face. “The other readers already suspect I’m helping you,” Arrow said. His voice sounded nervous and shaky. “I can’t tell you more.” A thought seemed to occur to him, and he grinned slyly. “I saw you dropping guns down that drain,” he said. “Don’t push your luck.”

Reese’s grip tightened on the gun. “Don’t push yours,” she replied. “After what happened with Grahm, I don’t have much else to lose.”

Arrow flinched and his gaze dropped to the floor.

So he wasn’t just a pawn. He knew what he was doing when he told us about Grahm.
The thought made Reese’s chest burn. “You cost me my crew, Arrow,” she said. “Do you really think I’m going to just walk away?” She paused to let her words sink in, then motioned toward the doorway. “I want you to read someone for me.”

Arrow’s fear turned to puzzlement. “What?”

“Just do it,” Reese snapped. She backed up, leaving a clear path to the open inner door.

Slowly, Arrow edged from his seat. He stood and straightened his jacket, buttoning it as he approached.

Reese nodded at the front door. “He’s out there.”

The reader glared at her. “I’m not here to be used,” he growled. “I told you they suspect me.”

“And you think I’m going to help you?” Reese took a half step forward and raised the gun. “I don’t help police who withhold information.”

Arrow’s face began to turn red. The veins in his neck bulged. Then he swung away and pushed the door aside.

Reese saw his eyes widen and his mouth fall open. For a moment he seemed to stagger. One hand rose to the door post and clung there, knuckles red. Reese moved to get a better view.

Out in the hallway, the king stood with his back to the room, an anonymous figure in a dark coat, his hair shadowed by the patchy light.

Reese watched Arrow.

The reader’s eyes seemed to be moving back and forth, gazing at the air around the king, as if reading some sort of pattern or message. He swallowed and the fingers of his free hand twitched.

“Well?” Reese asked. “Recognize him?”

Arrow jumped at the sound. He half turned, as if to look over his shoulder, but kept his gaze on the man in the hallway. “Where did you find him?” he asked.

Reese tensed. “Supposedly a back alleyway,” she replied. She edged back, out of Arrow’s reach. “What can you tell me?”

The reader jerked his head back in an expansive shrug. “He’s a flyer.” He turned to look at her, an affected nonchalantness on his face. But his eyes looked desperate.

He’s trying to hide.
Reese slid her finger onto the trigger. “There’s more than that, isn’t there?” she said. “What else do you know?”
This is when I could use a more attack-worthy ability.
She watched as the reader eyed the gun. “I may not have my crew here to beat the truth out of you,” she added. “But you don’t have much choice.”

Arrow grimaced. “Or you’ll shoot me?” He turned around to face her and crossed his arms. “That’ll make a lot of noise.” He grinned.

“I know.” Reese slid the gun back into her pocket.
Think. Think hard. What is he not telling me?
She mimicked the reader’s stance.
How can I scare him?
“But I can make even more noise than it can.”

Suspicion flickered through the reader’s eyes.

“If you don’t tell me what I want to know,” Reese began, “I will arrange for you to be caught handing secret information to rebels.”

Arrow stiffened.

Reese lowered her voice to almost a whisper. “This man claims he can’t remember anything. That’s not true, is it? There’s a bigger plan?”

The reader jerked away from her, terror on his face. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He backed farther into the room, eyes darting this way and that. “Just… just go.”

Sounds like a ‘yes’ to me.
Reese stalked after the frightened reader.
And somehow, some way, he got an ability convincing enough for Arrow. Unless Arrow’s in on it.
Reese decided to push her luck. “Why is he out here? Do the police know? Is he working with them?”

The look of terror on Arrow’s face increased. “They, they don’t know, but for the love of all that is holy, don’t tell them!”

An uneasy feeling rippled through Reese’s calculations.
Only the readers know the king is out here? That doesn’t make sense.
“How did he get an ability?” she asked, still trying to sort through Arrow’s reaction.

Arrow’s hands flew to his mouth. “Reese, don’t…” His chest heaved and he seemed to be gasping for air. “Don’t ask. They don’t trust me any more as it is.”

A chill swept down Reese’s back.
He’s trying to tell me something.
The man’s appearance and actions added up to one thing. He’s afraid, but not of me. The tension in her shoulders increased.
Is someone else threatening him?

“I have to report for duty soon,” Arrow said, fumbling with his coat buttons. “Shoot him, for all I care, but get out of here. Please just go,” he gasped. “All I can tell you is to get off the island while you still can.”

Reese eyed him. More questions burned on her tongue.

An urgent tapping came from the hallway.

People coming.
Reese pulled herself from her thoughts and backed toward the outer door. “I’m leaving now, Arrow,” she said. “You’re on your own.”