Otherwise, he might have to take Kit's advice.

From the rooftop across the alleyway from the Three Maids, Levictus worked his knife as he watched his target depart. White-gray wings fluttered in his hands.

With the fat man's blood still wet on his blade, he had waited here while the city awoke to the new day. He had taken no joy in extinguishing the death merchant's life, nor that of the elder on Esquiline Hill. They were simply tasks consigned to him by his master. Ordinary tasks, as mundane as cleaning a pair of boots or beating a mattress. Over the past decade and a half he had given up on the idea of finding a challenge worthy of his talents.

Until now.

He tightened his grip, and tiny talons scrabbled inside his fist as he considered the man below. This one might prove entertaining. Vassili was growing more arrogant and demanding by the day; treachery dripped from his every word. If not for the power he wielded through the Elector Council, Levictus would have left him long ago. But his family's souls cried out for vengeance. Through the long years, he had utilized his sorcery to track down those who had tortured and murdered them. He had dragged Inquestor agents by the dozens out to the forgotten sanctuaries beyond the city walls and given them over to the dark powers of the nether realms. Yet his thirst for vengeance would not be slaked while the initiator of the pogroms, the man who had devised the doctrine of bigotry that had resulted in the death of thousands of innocents and then ridden the tide of bloodshed and torture to the very pinnacle of his order, yet lived. The prelate of the True Church. Until Benevolence himself lay dead at his feet, Levictus would not stop. All that he had done, it meant nothing if he did not accomplish that.

He flicked the blade of his knife and wished he could eliminate the prelate now and be done with it, but Vassili preached patience and Levictus waited. Yet he would not wait much longer. The archpriest's plan had brought certain opportunities to light. The assassin with the lazy smile and eyes like blue crystal was an interesting prospect. Headstrong and ambitious, that one would be easier to manipulate. Perhaps it was time to make a change, or he could do as Vassili wanted and kill the man in the street below.

Or he could do both.

The target reached an intersection and vanished around a corner.

Levictus put his knife away and reached into his robe. From a pocket in the lining he took out a small object and placed it on the rooftop. The bead gleamed black and glossy in the morning light like a pebble of polished obsidian. Warmth pulsed within its ebon depths. He knelt beside the egg and whispered in soft, lilting tones. Tendrils of smoke rose from the bead as its surface dulled. With a pop, it cracked down the center and an inky stain emerged, a tiny serpent as long as his forefinger. Speaking softly, he gave the creature its instructions. It listened, and then disappeared into a chink between two roof shingles.

Levictus straightened and stepped into the lee of an arched gable. As he entered the shadow's embrace, plans formed in his head. Death would reign over this city before he was done, a scourging storm to wash away all the wickedness and iniquity. For a brief moment, he considered his loyalty to Vassili, but then reminded himself that he was a dead man. He had died on the day he was dragged into hell by the foot soldiers of the True Church. And dead men held no allegiances.

A whisper on the wind left the rooftop vacant save for smears of blood and the headless carcasses of a dozen pigeons.

CHAPTER TEN

osey giggled as her nanny crept past the pantry closet. She put her eye to the crack between the door and the jamb and ignored the demands that she present herself immediately. Hide-and-seek was one of her favorite games, and this big new house was the perfect place to play. It had even more nooks and shadowy corners than the hedge maze of their last home. She could hide for days if she wanted.

She was six years old, but Father still left her in the nanny's custody while he attended to business. She didn't know what business was, but it took up a great deal of his time these days, something she was decidedly not happy about. She was used to being the center of his world, his little princess, and anything that took Father away from Josey made her obscenely jealous.

While the nanny went calling into the next room, she snuck out from her hiding spot. She wanted to find a better one, someplace no one could ever find her. In her stocking feet she ran through the cavernous kitchen with its high tables and racks of cast-iron pots, down a wide hall, and around the corner. After several more turnings she found herself in a part of the house she had not yet encountered. Overjoyed at the prospect of exploring new territory, she forgot her game and wandered the long, windowless corridor. Tall wooden doors, their bronze latches dark with age, refused her entry, so she kept going. At the turning of another corner, she looked back. A line of footprints trailed behind her, a clear path she could follow back whenever she wanted.

The hall ended in a shallow niche, its blank walls encased in wooden paneling. A rusty hook for hanging a picture jutted above her reach. Josey crouched in the niche. It was too exposed for a good hiding spot. Dejected, she started to get up when a twinkle of light caught her eye. She bent down and found a crack near the floor. She would have missed it if not for the yellow glow filling the narrow gap. She wriggled her fingers into the crack and grinned when a section of the wall swung out like a narrow door. Deep steps of bare rock descended into the tunnel beyond, from which issued smells of earth and smoke. Below, more light flickered and strange sounds whispered in her ears like distant singing.

She stole down the steps like the daring thief Jangar Bey, her favorite storybook hero. Her fingers followed the curve of the stone wall as the cool steps wended beneath her feet. The lower she descended, the louder grew the sounds. The light got stronger, too. At the bottom of the steps a wide chamber opened before her, cut from the foundation beneath the house. Flaming torches lit the cavernous room and threw deep shadows across its painted walls. People in funny costumes stood in a circle and swayed in rhythm with the rising chant. Deep-blue hoods covered their faces except for dark eyeholes. Fanciful designs were sewn onto their clothes, shaggy birds with rearing claws depicted in golden thread.

There was so much to see, Josey didn't notice the song had ended until the rustle of clothing caught her attention. The hoods came off and faces emerged into the torchlight, men and women smiling and nodding as they finished their play, or whatever it was. A head turned and Josey's breath caught in her throat as familiar eyes cast their gaze across the chamber. With a startled gasp, she ran back up the steps, not sure why she fled, but only knowing she had seen something she wasn't meant to witness. When she reached the niche, she slammed shut the paneled door and darted down the hallway, but the eyes followed her like a bad dream.

The cool eyes of her father.

The hallway stretched into darkness before her. Her breathing thundered in her ears. A haunting dread pursued her through the gloom. She grasped for something to hold on to, but there was nothing there as she tumbled down a well of endless night. With infinite slowness the darkness resolved itself into shapes. At first indistinct, they loomed large and frightening over Josey's head, until their edges came together into long shadows across the ceiling. Her body didn't seem to want to work. She tried to turn her neck and waited for what seemed like hours before anything came into view. She remembered her dream and shivered. She had forgotten about that day in the old wing of the house and the secret door in the wall. She had gone back to the niche days later only to find a bare wall and tight panels that refused to budge no matter how hard she pried at them. She left the wing convinced it had all been a bad dream.