LITMIR.BIZ

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footsteps echoing on marble. Splinters of light dance through the weave of the sack.

      A fire roars somewhere; its crackle and warmth sneak through the cloth. There’s a murmuring of voices.

      “Madame,” Montparnasse says.

      “Master of Knives,” a woman’s voice answers.

      “I’ve brought you a gift.”

      “I’m no gift, not even to the Dealers of Death.” My voice is muffled through the sack and doesn’t sound as dangerous as I would like.

      I’m pushed to my knees, the hood is removed from my head, and I stare blinking into the sudden candlelight. Ettie is next to me, looking terrified and perplexed.

      Seated in front of us is a petite woman in a dark velvet dress. Her thick brown hair is pinned back tight, and she gives an impression of meticulous neatness. My heart drops at the sight of her so close. Charlotte Corday, Lady of the Assassins Guild. The only Assassin ever to come to her office by murdering the previous Lord in a crowded room, without going anywhere near him. Stories are whispered about her: that she came into the world dead, a corpse with skin like marble and cold, hard eyes; that those who have seen her smile rarely live long enough to talk about it; that she has sworn an alliance to the Dead Lord.

      At her right stands a pale bald man wearing small spectacles and a waistcoat of dark gray satin. His white shirt collar is starched so stiff at the neck, it looks like it’s trying to stab him. He’s still except for his hands, which are wrapped in kid gloves; I have heard the acid-stained fingers constantly wring themselves together. He is Col-Blanche, Master of Poisons. At Corday’s left stands Montparnasse, who is playing with a long, thin dagger and watching us.

      “People don’t usually come to us seeking their own deaths,” Corday says, her voice like ice. “However, I’m sure we can make an exception if you’ve brought appropriate payment. Alternatively, the fee could be waived if you volunteer yourselves to the House of Poisons. Our newest recruits are always in need of fresh subjects on whom to test their concoctions.” She pauses significantly. “Although that option is usually quite painful.”

      I blink several times before I realize what she’s saying. “What? No, we’re not here for that … We’re here for your help.” I stumble over my words.

      Lady Corday tilts her head. “You wish our aid in matters unrelated to death?”

      “Yes.”

      Corday’s eyes widen the tiniest fraction and her hands rise from her lap, fingers pressing together as she stares at me with an intensity that makes me feel like she’s looking through me.

      “You must forgive my presumption. I assumed you wanted help dispatching yourself from this life, since that is our trade. But then, we Death Dealers are not used to uninvited guests.” And there it is, the threat lacing her measured words. She leans back in her chair, making herself comfortable. “In what way may we be of … help to you?”

      We’re probably dead already, so it makes no difference if I tell her the truth.

      “My Lady, I’m the Black Cat of the Thieves Guild.”

      She watches me.

      “I’m looking for a Guild to take Ettie.” Nervousness makes me ineloquent.

      “Who is Ettie?” Corday asks.

      “I am!” Ettie lifts her head and shakes her golden curls out of her face.

      Corday transfers her gaze to Ettie and pauses.

      “Very beautiful.”

      Ettie colors beside me. “Thank you.”

      Corday raises an eyebrow before returning her attention to me.

      “The Thief Lord won’t give her his mark,” I say.

      “And I thought Tomasis was always eager for new pets.” Corday runs her fingertips over one another as if she’s testing them for sharpness.

      I shake my head. “He won’t, because the Tiger wants her.”

      Silence fills the room. The Death Dealers are good at silence. They wield it like a weapon.

      “The Thieves won’t take her, but you think I will?” Corday says in a tone of mild amazement.

      “N-no,” I stutter. “I would never … That is to say, I am looking for the Dead Lord. He is the only one who might take her despite the Tiger’s interest. But I have heard that his seat at the high table has been empty, and the Ghosts have not been seen in the shadows.” Even I know how stupid that sounds, but I’ve started and I must finish before I am condemned. “I know that you and the Dead Lord are allies of old. I have heard the stories.”

      “What stories?”

      “That the Dead Lord saved you as a child and brought you to the Dealers of Death.”

      “Come here, child.”

      Montparnasse is at my side in a second, his fingers burning into my arm as he guides me to my feet. I walk toward Corday, leaving Ettie behind me.

      “You would ask the Dead Lord, a Lord of the Miracle Court, to defy the Tiger by giving this child a mark?” she asks.

      “Do you know what happened to the last Guild Lord who defied the Tiger?” a voice interjects.

      I turn to a fireplace tucked into the farthest corner of the room, before which is seated a plump little brown-skinned woman draped in colorless robes, a sturdy scarf wound around her head, her thick graying hair tied back.

      Hers is a face I know well, for she is usually seated at the Lords’ high table when the Miracle Court meets. She peers at me now like an owl through large spectacles that dwarf her face. In the flesh she is not particularly intimidating, but appearances are deceiving, for this is Gayatri Komayd, Lady of the Guild of Letters, Mother of Ink, Keeper of Secrets, Head Auditor of the Miracle Court.

      I do my best not to frown, confused by her presence here at the Assassins Guild. I’m so distracted, I almost miss Corday nodding to Montparnasse.

      I swing around in horror to find that he has Ettie on her feet, his blade at her cheek. Ettie’s eyes are wide with terror, the razor-sharp dagger pressed into her skin.

      “Please!” I cry.

      “You’re daring, Black Cat of the Thieves Guild.” Corday’s face is a picture of calm. “And for that I’ll give you some free counsel.” Her eyes flicker back to Ettie. “Slice up her pretty face, and perhaps the Tiger won’t want her anymore.”

      “Please. Don’t!” I plead.

      “I doubt Kaplan would be put off by a disfigurement at this stage. You know what he’s like when he wants something,” says Col-Blanche.

      “It’s true he doesn’t like being defied,” Corday agrees.

      She glances again at Montparnasse, and at the merest blink of her eyes he lets go of Ettie and puts his blade away. Ettie breathes out in a long, loud sound.

      I dare not even go to her. I try to still my trembling hands and keep my eyes on Corday, who seems to be measuring me up for something. I hope it’s not a coffin.

      “You’re very small.”

      I nod.

      “And you’re a Cat.”

      “Yes, my Lady.”

      “You must be very good at getting into hard-to-reach places.” Her eyes flicker toward the fireplace at Komayd.

      “Nina can break into anywhere,” Ettie pipes up from behind me. “She once broke into the Tuileries!”

      I could kick myself for having told her about my burglaries, but Ettie so loves stories.

      Corday looks at Ettie in amusement. “Did she? Well, that’s very

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