I smiled at the woman sitting in front of my desk. “Thank you, Miss. Wren will be in touch.”

  Her eyes went wide, and she blushed a fetching shade of pink. “I, ah, yes… uhm…” She bolted out of her seat and tried to edge towards the exit, immediately tripping over the leg of her chair. I lunged to catch her before she fell, but she recoiled, beet-red, and fled out the door.

  A burst of wind-blown snow hit me full in the face as I stood there, my hand still outstretched.

  The man sitting next to the fireplace chuckled. Dressed in dark clothes and light leather armour, my current guard-slash-babysitter looked like a random hired sword. “If you keep flirting with everyone like that, Wren’s going to go out of business.”

  I rolled my eyes and brushed the snow off the front of my vest. “Shut up, Stephen,” I retorted without heat. “I wasn’t flirting with her. If anything, she was flirting with me.”

  He snorted. “If you smiled at my daughter like that, I’d snap you in half like a toothpick.”

  “… Your daughter’s four!”

  “Just saying.” He picked up the book he’d dropped and opened it. He was already halfway through the damned thing.

  I sighed and began sweeping up the snow that had blown in before it melted.

  I’d have thought being a PI in a world of swords and sorcery would be exiting. I was wrong.

  Most of my time was long stretches of boredom interspersed with frantic bouts of dealing with Wren’s disturbingly complicated love life. Somehow, the guy had multiple girlfriends, none of whom knew about the others. How he’d managed to attract any of them, I had no idea.

  My guards and I spent a lot of time reading. The small used bookstore just down the street had likely doubled its business thanks to us. On top of that, Louise’s Aunt Marlene’s café was only a few blocks away. Guarding me was a surprisingly popular assignment.

  My own book was waiting for me in one of my desk drawers, carefully bookmarked. Lord Rowan had just found out that the pirate king who had kidnapped his childhood best friend and unrequited first love, the flower seller Nadine, was actually his twin brother separated at birth and in league with his scheming fiancée, Princess Astrid, who was secretly dying of a mysterious disease, and I didn’t want to lose my place.

  In my past life, trash soap operas had been my guilty pleasure, the more convoluted, the better. I had been thrilled to discover this world had the next best thing.

  The front door rattled.

  Wren shuffled inside, letting in another burst of cold air and tracking more snow all over my nice clean floor.

  “Would it kill you to leave the snow outside, Old Man?” I glared at him as I began to sweep it all up. Again.

  “Quiet, Brat. ‘S what I pay ye for.”

  “You don’t pay me at all.”

  Wren laughed. “Y’got me there.” He removed his heavy coat, hanging it beside the fireplace to dry. I stared at him pointedly until he begrudgingly pushed the towel I had left there beneath it to catch the drips. Snow was bad enough — I wasn’t going to deal with puddles too.

  He tossed another log onto the fire. “Yer knight ‘ere yet?”

  Autumn had started randomly visiting Wren’s office, usually just in time to join us for a meal. He always had some lame excuse, claiming he was in the neighbourhood for some reason or other, but I was fairly sure he was checking up on me.

  “I doubt he’s coming today.” I looked out the front windows at the dark and almost abandoned streets. A huge cold front had hit the capital a couple of days ago and decided to stay, bringing overcast skies, massive snows, and freezing winds. “But I’ve sent Collin to Marlene’s to grab us all dinner anyway.”

  “More fer me.” Wren rubbed his hands in anticipation. “Y’order my usual?”

  “Since when is feeding you part of my job?”

  He snorted. “Since I kept ye, e’en though yer a mouthy little bugger. Anythin’ come up?”

  I leaned the broom against my desk and flipped through the tiny pile of messages I’d taken. “Mrs. Whaitheby came by. She wants to know if there’s any news on her daughter. I told her you would let her know as soon as you had anything. Your landlord said there’s been complaints about you. Something about odd smells? He wants you to cut it out. And someone sent you a package. Do not open it in here.” I warned him sharply as he reached for the box on the edge of my desk. The last one had been from one of his ex-‘lady friends’ and had contained a dozen very dead roses and a dozen very much alive and angry rats.

  He eyed the package suspiciously and nudged it to the far side.

  “You also have a new client.” I handed him the notes I had taken while talking to the young woman earlier. “She claims her sister has gone missing and wants you to find her.”

  He eyed me sharply, likely noticing the doubt in my voice. “But?”

  “She felt… off.” I looked pensively at my elegant scribbles. Violet had come equipped with beautiful handwriting. “In her shoes, I would’ve gone to the Watch first, not immediately tried to hire a private investigator. I think there’s something else going on. And she was flirting with me.”

  “Yer a good-lookin’ boy,” he pointed out.

  “If one of my brothers went missing, I’d be tearing the city apart, not flirting with a receptionist. She was far too calm.”

  He grinned. “Idjits don’t expect a brain behind yer pretty face. ‘is Lorship were right — lettin’ ye play poxy nob’s a waste.” He took my notes and scanned them. “I’ll look into ‘er afore I decide anythin’,” he promised.

  I sidled over to his desk as he sat down. “I could be even more useful if you took me with you.” I pointed out helpfully.

  “Yer dreamin’, Brat. Like my fingers as-is.”

  I blinked in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

  “Yer crazy knight an’ I ‘ad a wee talk back a bit. Yer not goin’ with till he says yer ready.”

  “He… did that?” My heart rose. Maybe my relationship with Autumn wasn’t as doomed as I thought. My expression must have given me away because Wren rolled his eyes and sighed.

  “Yer both a right pack of idjits, aren’t ye–“

  The door exploded inward and slammed against the wall.

  Stephen was half out of his chair when he tilted sideways, a thrown knife buried up to its hilt in his chest. He managed a few stumbling steps towards the door before the first assailant was on him. He went down in a spray of blood.

  Time seemed to slow to a crawl.

  My hands were frozen at my waist, my knives half drawn. I couldn’t move. All I could do was stare in horror at the puddle of blood oozing from beneath Stephen’s body. My heart thudded like a drum, the sound of my blood roaring in my ears.

  The man who had killed Stephen rose, my guard’s blood splattered across his chest and up onto his cheek, and smiled at me.

  Something small whizzed past my ear, and time snapped back into place. Wren grabbed the back of my shirt collar and yanked me backwards over his desk. My knives skittered out of my hands as I hit the floor. He landed on top of me, squeezing the wind out of me, and covered our heads with his arms.

  An explosion rocked the office.

  The air filled with smoke and dust. I could hear shattering glass from the large front window falling to the floor, along with the sound of moaning. The frigid wind swirled through the smoke and debris, blowing snow in through the opening.

  “Wren. I think they’re after me,” I managed to gasp.

  I winced inwardly. Of course they were after me; no one else made any sense. What was wrong with me? I was a trained police officer and detective. I shouldn’t be this overwhelmed.

  “I know, Brat.” Wren grabbed my wrist and peeled me off the floor, dragging me behind him as he ran for the back hallway. I glanced back, my heart racing.

  The guy who had killed Stephen lay unmoving on the floor, but I could make out another three forms through the blowing smoke and snow. They didn’t sound happy.

  “Ye need to get out of here. Go out the backdoor and run. Head for the Watch house by the main gate, and don’t stop fer anything” He pushed some small fabric pouches into my hand and shoved me down the hall. Without him.

  “What?! Wren, no. I can’t just leave you!” I whispered desperately. Stephen’s death was still fresh in my mind.

  He turned, pulled another of the pouches from his pocket and ran his thumb over the fabric. “I’ll manage, Brat. Ye said it yersel’, yer what they’re after. Go.” He gave me another push, then threw the pouch into the smoky front office. “Go!”

  I stumbled as another explosion shook the office, and ran.

  I hated myself for leaving him behind, but Wren was right. If I was the target, staying here was the worst thing I could do.

  I barrelled down the hall, ignoring the closed doors that lined it and slammed into the back door. I nearly bounced off it again in my haste. As I fumbled for the lock, something heavy slammed into it from the other side.

  The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

  No… Someone.

  Whoever was after me had flanked us.

  I retreated and searched frantically for another escape route. The other doors were dead ends — pair of storerooms, bathroom, private parlour. I couldn’t go forwards, and I couldn’t go back.

  My only other choice was up.

  I launched myself up the little stairway just off the door and scrambled up the steps. Wren lived on the second floor, and there was no way the squirrely bastard didn’t have a means of escape in his living space.

  Behind me, the back door cracked as it took a second hit. I had just cleared the final step as a third strike sent its splintered remains crashing to the floor. Without pausing, I threw myself at Wren’s door.

  … locked.

  I muffled my scream of frustration. I had seconds before they figure out where I had gone, and I’d managed to get myself cornered.

  There was a creak behind me as someone began to climb the stairs.

  I spun, pulling out a throwing knife and one of my longer stilettos. If I was going down, it was going to be kicking and screaming.

  As I turned, a weird discolouration on the ceiling caught my eye. A painted, recessed handle. It was a trapdoor with a handle. The thing was… high, eight or nine feet off the floor. Wren probably had a hook or something stowed away to open it, but I didn’t have time to find it.

  I leapt for it.

  My fingertips grazed the edge of the recess, just barely caching the edge of the handle. I curled my fingers around it and held on. The trapdoor fell open, swinging wildly under my weight, and nearly sent me flying back down the stairs. A rickety ladder dropped from the opening and partially unfolded.

  Whoever was climbing the stairs swore, and the creaking got louder.

  I jumped off the swinging trapdoor and twisted in the air like a damned cat. My feet barely touched the rungs as I flew the rest of the way up. I quickly pulled the ladder back up after me.

  A very large man appeared at the top of the stairs just as I finished folding it.

  “Hey! You little bastard! Get—!”

  I slammed the trapdoor closed, cutting him off. The latch snapped shut, and I fumbled the lock into place just as something heavy grabbed the handle. The latch began to creak, but the lock held. For now.

  The attic was dark, stuffed full of musty boxes and old furniture. I blinked in the darkness, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

  It appeared to have once been a small, single room apartment before Wren had turned it into a storage space. A sliver of hope bloomed in my chest. An apartment meant windows — possibly even ones big enough for me to fit through. I quickly began pushing my way through Wren’s accumulated junk.

  The trapdoor’s wooden frame creaked ominously. I tried to ignore it.

  At the room’s far end, a brighter rectangle glowed faintly in the darkness. I shoved aside something that looked suspiciously like an old coffin and made my way over. It was a small window, lit by the streetlamps reflecting off the blowing snow. I climbed on top of an old dresser and wrenched the bottom half of the frame upward with all my might.

  It groaned, barely opening a centimetre before it stuck.

  “Fuck!”

  I was running out of time. I stuck my stiletto into the gap and jerked it downwards sharply, desperately trying to lever the damned thing open. The window gave way with a sharp crack. My knife slipped out of my hands, leaving a bloody gash in my palm as it flew off into Wren’s junk pile.

  From beyond the mounds, there was an answering crack as the trapdoor’s lock snapped and gave way.

  I quickly stuck my head out the window, checking to make sure I wasn’t about to fall three stories onto cobblestones. A tight squeeze and a four-foot drop to the neighbour’s roof was all that stood between me and freedom. Once I was out and among the interconnecting rooftops, they’d never be able to catch me.

  A hand seized my ankle, and began to drag me back into the attic.

  I flailed and kicked wildly as more hands grabbed my other leg. Something crunched wetly beneath my heel, and one of the pairs of hands vanished with a keening scream. But there were too many others. They dragged me back into the attic and slammed me against the wall hard enough to make me see stars. I fought feebly as a sweet-smelling cloth was forced against my face, covering my nose and mouth.

  The room began to spin, and my struggles grew weaker.

  Someone yanked my arms behind me, and something cold and metallic snapped closed around each of my wrists.

  I collapsed, sinking slowly to the floor, and everything faded away.

  ——————-

  The steady sound of water dripping onto stone penetrated my brain like a million tiny spikes, just loud enough to be insistent, and just irregular enough to be irritating.

  What the hells…?

  I was lying on my side on a cold floor. My hip and shoulder ached, and were starting to go numb where the edges of the stone floor tiles pressed into them — I must have been here for a while. The weird angle of my arms didn’t help either. They were twisted behind me, putting stress on my shoulder joints. My head was killing me, my hand stung like crazy, and my mouth was dry from a piece of fabric I’d been chewing on while I was out.

  The edges of my brain felt fuzzy. Where was I? What was I doing here?

  I reached up to pull the bit of fabric free.

  My arm jerked to a stop almost instantly, rough rope digging into my skin. I was tied up. And gagged.

  This… what? I shook my head, trying to clear the cobwebs.

  I’d been working. And then Wren had returned… an attack. People had broken in, and I’d tried to get away. But … Oh. Shit. I hadn’t made it.

  I’d been kidnapped.

  I came fully awake in an instant, terror clawing at my gut, and tried not to panic.

  Panicking was the worst thing I could do right now. I’d trained … not for this exact situation, but I had trained in crisis management. I had to stay calm, pay attention, and above all else, think.

  There was enough light leaking under the door to give me a good idea of where I was being held. It looked like an old storeroom. Old crates were stacked against one wall, and sunken sacks were shoved into the corners. The air smelled of damp and mildew.

  I quickly checked my bindings. My ankles and wrists had been tied and … I was still wearing the metallic cuffs they had put on me when I’d been captured. Interesting. I carefully traced their scratched surface with my fingertips. Both cuffs fit snugly around my wrists, and my questing fingers found small keyholes on each one. There was no way I was getting out of these without the key.

  Even more interesting: someone had taken the time to bandage my injured hand. They wanted me not just alive, but well.

  “… bit me! Damned gremlin.”

  I froze, listening intently.

  A rough voice laughed harshly. “Serves you right. Shoulda been more careful. We’ve got some feisty ones on our hands.”

  Two voices. One male, one female. They sounded muffled and distant, but I could make them out clearly. Far better than I should be able to, actually — especially through a storeroom door and with who knew what else in the way. Was this another effect of my Body magic?

  “Feisty my ass!” The first speaker whined. The woman. Something about her voice sounded familiar. And she were getting closer.

  I dropped my head back onto the ground, closed my eyes and went limp. The longer they thought I was out, the less careful they would be.

  “Quit your bitching,” the gruff voice replied. I cracked my eyelids just for a second. I could see the shadows of their feet beneath the door. “We’ll be rid of them soon enough.”

  A key rattled in the door’s lock. The door creaked open. A pair of footsteps entered.

  Something warm and heavy fell practically on top of me. I fought not to flinch. I wasn’t sure I’d pulled it off. Whatever it was curled up against my stomach and trembled, whimpering softly.

  Instead of leaving, the person paused as if watching me. “You sure he’s out?” Whiny asked.

  Hells.

  Gruff snorted. “Boss said not to take any chances with him. Too valuable.”

  ‘Valuable’ was good. As long as I was valuable, I was safe. Relatively safe, anyway.

  “Gave him the strong shit — he’ll be out for hours yet.”

  “Good. Little bastard.” Whiny kicked my leg hard enough to leave a bruise. Not that it took much — I bruised like a godsdamned peach.

  I must have metabolized whatever they’d drugged me with much faster than I was supposed to. Another Body magic boost?

  “Cut that out, idiot,” Gruff snapped. “Buyer won’t pay for damaged goods.”

  Goods? Buyer?

  Oh. Fuck.

  My stomach twisted. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. I was being trafficked.

  Whiny huffed. “Fine. Whatever. Enjoy your nap, little lordling,” she taunted.

  Hells. I did know her voice.

  The strange nasal whistle that undercut her voice was new. It had thrown me, but her teasing tone had finally jogged my memory. The woman who had come in looking for her sister. She must have been there scouting the office.

  Whiny’s footsteps retreated. The door closed, dropping the room back into darkness. There was another rattle of a key, the lock clicked closed.

  I waited as the pair’s steps faded away.

  Right now, I was chilled and sore, but I wasn’t very hungry. I hadn’t been out for too long — It was very likely we were still in the capital somewhere. However, if I were sold, there was no telling where I would end up, and my odds of being rescued would drop to almost nothing. I had no idea how long I had.

  I needed to get out of here.

  When it was finally quiet, I slowly opened my eyes and looked down at the shaking bundle puffing against my chest.

  A small, terrified little girl stared back at me.

  She blinked at me, tears streaking her cheeks. Then she let out a high pitched squeak from behind her gag —exactly like a dog toy being stepped on — buried her face in my shirt, and began to sob.

  Hell’s balls.

  Children were not my forte at the best of times. This was not the best of times. Kids acted like Els was their favourite aunt. They’d treated me like an angry grizzly bear in a cheap suit.

  I half-curled up around her and let her use my shirt as a hanky. There wasn’t much else I could do for her. We needed to get out of here. And to do that, I needed her to calm down.

  Slowly, her big, wet sobs were replaced by little huffs and sniffles. I gently knocked my forehead against hers, trying to reassure her I wasn’t going anywhere. Then I began squirming around and checking everywhere I could reach for one of my knives.

  They’d searched me, of course, and had done a pretty decent job of it. But I’d had a lot of them tucked away — and I only needed them to have missed a single one.

  Because if they hadn’t…

  I nearly wept with relief when my fingers closed on the handle of the tiny knife I’d hidden behind the decorative bow at the back of left boot. It was only about an inch long — not much of a weapon, but enough to get us out of our damned ropes.

  Freeing myself took less than twenty seconds — Louise kept my little arsenal sharp. I couldn’t get the cuffs off, but the bit of chain between them was long enough that with a bit of contorting I could get my hands in front of me.

  I pulled my gag free and started cutting the ropes holding the girl. “I need you to be very quiet,” I whispered softly. I was pretty sure there was no one on the other side of the door, but there was no point in taking chances. “Can you do that for me?”

  She nodded.

  The ties around her wrists snapped. She pulled off her own gag as I moved on to her ankles.

  “Who are you?” She whispered back in a tiny voice.

  “Violet. I got captured too.”

  She blinked, wiping away her tears with her sleeve, then scowled at me like she’d caught me stealing cookies. “That’s a girl’s name. You sound like a boy.”

  … Was it darker in here than I thought? Her eyes should have adjusted by now, but the way they were tracking suggested she couldn’t make me out very well.

  My magic must have improved my low light vision too. Thea had undersold how useful Body magic could be.

  I grinned ruefully. I’d grown comfortable being ‘Violet,’ right down to my lace underwear. I knew I’d never pass as ‘manly.’ “I’m a pretty girly guy.”

  She watched me thoughtfully as I cut the last rope. “… That’s fair. My name’s Lilian. My brother calls me Lily.”

  “It’s nice to meet you, Lilian. Are you ready to get out of here?”

  Lilian nodded.

  I helped her to her feet while I contemplated our next obstacle: the storeroom door.

  I’d heard the door lock when Whiny and Gruff had left, so we weren’t going to just walk out of here. I didn’t have anything I could use to jimmy it either — a quick feel of the keyhole told me my little knife was too broad to fit. Maybe I could use it to remove the hinges?

  … Too dark to tell.

  I cupped my hands, calling on my flicker of Fire to create a tiny ball of light. It was the simplest, easiest Fire spell possible. It was also the only thing I had enough power to cast.

  Nothing happened.

  I tried again, pushing harder this time. My Fire magic may have been incredibly weak and unreliable, but this spell was something a toddler could do.

  Still nothing.

  Lilian tugged my shirt. “What are you doing?”

  “I’m trying to use my magic to make us some light, but it’s not working.” I tried a third time, the chain of the handcuffs jingling as I gestured sharply.

  The handcuffs.

  I knelt to examine them in the faint light coming from under the door.

  The outer surface had felt scratched when I’d run my fingers over them earlier. Looking closer, the marks were actually tiny runes carved into the metal. The cuffs must have been enchanted to keep a person from casting.

  I bit off a muttered curse.

  Lilian shot me a sharp look.

  Kid. Right. Responsible grownup time.

  “Sorry.”

  I held out my hands, showing Lilian the cuffs. “As long as I’m wearing these, I can’t use magic. Can you use any?”

  She shook her head, looking like she was about cry again.

  “It’s fine,” I soothed her. “If you can’t, you can’t. It just means we’re going to do this the hard way.”

  She sniffled. “… What’s the hard way?”

  Holding up a hand to shush her, I placed my ear to the door, listening intently.

  Nothing.

  I stepped back, took a deep breath… and kicked the fucking door in.