“Our client actually let you leave to rescue me?” I ask through gasping breaths.
“Kindly fuck off while your best friend is trying to save your ass.”
I bite back a grin. Ania never swears like that. I’m proud to be responsible for it.
Between us, her fingers fly as she weaves together a quick and simple concealment spell. Plum-colored strands of obscuraz pour from her fingertip implants, coming together in a tightly knit pattern. She ties it off with a quick yank, then rips it in half and shoves half of it into my hands, keeping half for herself.
“Stay absolutely still,” she murmurs.
The spell crumbles into faintly glowing sparks as it takes effect, and I press back against the alley wall and breathe as shallowly as I can. Ania does the same, taking my hand and holding tight as all three cops converge on the alley. The woman who chased me across the rooftops does a slow scan of the entire alley, sharp eyes looking for any sign of our whereabouts. She takes a step closer to the dumpster, squinting at something on the ground, then peeking around behind the thing until she’s looking right through us.
One of the other cops calls out to her, and I flinch, my shoe making the faintest scuffing sound . . . but she pulls away and turns back to her counterparts, meeting them back in the middle of the alley. They talk too quietly for me to hear well, but it sounds like they’re trying to assign blame for losing me. Just as I’m starting to go light-headed from the lack of breath, they turn to leave, disappearing back in the direction I ran from.
Once they’ve been gone for two full minutes, I shake off Ania’s hand and step away to get some space, taking a few deep breaths.
“Thanks,” I say, still keeping an eye on the mouth of the alley. “Let’s get to Mattie’s. I want this maz off my back and those credits in our account.”
Ania nods vaguely, zoned out in that way that means she’s doing something on her lenses, her slim legs crossed at the ankles, where expensive skinny jeans and low boots let a strip of warm brown skin peek out. The yellowy light from the streetlamp shines through her hazy cloud of curls, wrapping each dark strand in threads of gold. We seriously just left the sewers forty-five minutes ago—how the hell does she look so put together? She must have ditched her sewage-covered rain boots somewhere.
Ania snaps back to reality and dodges my gaze in a way that I know means she was just messaging Jaesin about me. She turns to lead the way back to our drop point, and I scowl at the back of her head, dashing off a quick message to Remi as I follow.
(private) you: Hey, sorry, ran into some trouble. It’s fine now. Heading to the drop point.
(private) Remi: GOOD because I have something that will make you die
DIZZY LOOK
The next message is a link to a news article: “Tifa and the Flower Girls to Play Two Surprise Shows in Kyrkarta on Aeraday and Firaday.” A photo quickly follows: Remi with their hands pressed to their cheeks, screaming at the camera.
(private) Remi: WE ARE GOING
I’m heckin serious I don’t care what Jaesin and Ania say
I bite my lip and clear the notification away, swallowing down the knot in my throat. Of course we’ll go. One last chance to dance with Remi before they leave, the bass pounding in our chests, singing in our blood. I start to reply, then delete it.
Later. I’ll deal with it later.
We cross the block to the next intersection, moving slowly to take advantage of any lingering effects from the concealment spell. It won’t do any good if we run screaming down the street, but if we’re chill, it might help an errant gaze or two slide past us. A few minutes of tense silence later, we arrive at a nondescript elevator that takes us up twenty levels.
A quick walk across one of the thousands of breezeways connecting the buildings of Kyrkarta, and we come to a darkened flower shop with loud, busy arrangements filling the front window. The CLOSED message glows bright in one corner, but the door opens anyway, held by a guy a few years older than us with tawny skin and way more piercings than me. Mattie, our client for this job. He’s got a siphoning crew of his own, but they couldn’t get it together in time to pull off this job for whatever reason, so they contracted it out to us. Their loss.
It’s a big haul, and the particular combo of maz strains they requested took us to a part of the city we’d never hit before. Maz Management Corporation’s system looks the same no matter where you are, though: pipes in sewers, hiking through sludge, Ania and Jaesin watching our backs while I hack the security and Remi draws out the maz in manageable quantities. We got it done, despite the trouble at the end.
“Where’s the goods?” Mattie asks as he leads us into the back. His sweet old mother who owns the shop would skin him alive if she knew that “staying late to clean the shop” actually meant “conducting illegal business in the stockroom.” I let the pack slip down my arms and swing it up onto a work top littered with trimmed stems, wilting leaves, and shed petals.
“I didn’t realize I was supposed to walk in juggling the vials for all to see,” I say with an eyeroll, pulling a hard plastic case from the bag. I click the latches open and lift the top to reveal five clear vials nestled in their foam padded spots. Each one glows with contained threads of maz, coiled as tight as each strain allows. Our very last haul. Thick bronze terraz, sparking green vitaz, some of the same hazy purple obscuraz Ania used earlier.
Mattie picks up each one and inspects them all carefully, like he’s some kind of master maz connoisseur. I bite the inside of my lip to hold in a sigh of annoyance. A less obnoxious client would have been a much nicer way to end our siphoning career together. So much for going out in a grand blaze of glory, walking off into the sunset with our riches as a team, the latest overplayed graduation anthem seeing us off.
Then again, this group has always been a mess, and I’m pretty sure it’s my fault.
Epic Group Chat: LAST JOB EVER Edition
Remi: Are you dead, Dizzy?
Ania, are they killing her?
Ania: Remains to be seen. She’s getting fussy. Will report back.
Fussy? I burn a hole in the side of Ania’s face with my glare. I’m actually going to be forced to murder her.
Jaesin: I call dibs on her deck
Remi: Please, she probably has that thing programmed to self-destruct if she dies
You know what she’s got on there
Jaesin: No, I don’t
and I don’t want to
The corner of my mouth pulls up in a half smile. I quite enjoy this reputation of mine, at least partially deserved. My files are largely boring records of which public officials are breaking their spousal agreements, local celebrities’ secret dating profiles, and the internet search histories of Kyrkarta’s most prominent business leaders. I suppose some people might find it valuable information, but gathering it all is just a way to keep myself entertained when I can’t sleep.
“Oi, what’s with this one?” Mattie snaps, pulling my attention away from the group chat. He holds one of the vials of obscuraz between his thumb and middle finger, tilting it this way and that to let the light filter through the strands. I see what he means. It’s a notably different shade than the other vials of the same maz, like a few of the threads have turned a brighter violet-purple.
“Did you bring me contaminated maz?” he says, shoving the vial in my face. My stomach turns, and I jerk away, putting the table between us.