Because this was where the money was, in the homes once visited by the angel of dirt and prosperity. Csilla pressed her lips together. Not that an affinity that should keep a killer away, but what did she know? The rich always did seem to be protected in some way. She’d never wanted to believe them any more loved or blessed, but the abundance at Mihály’s table argued otherwise.
She needed to just go back before the cabbie dumped her at the far corner of the district and she compounded the waste of money with a long walk. She had promised to stay off the streets at night, what felt like a long time ago, when she was a different person.
“I’m ready now. Take me to...”
Before she could finish, a woman with a child too large to be carried in her arms, another girl trailing them, caught her eye, the woman’s stumbling and upward glances showing she didn’t know where she was. Csilla opened the door and slid out as the driver exclaimed a curse of surprise. “Do you need help?”
“On our way to a mercy hall,” the woman said. “He’s burning up, and the one in our district is full. But we’ll manage.”
The coachwoman offered a prayer, but not her hand, still watching Csilla. Csilla motioned for them to join her. Unless things had changed very much in the two days since she left the church, there wouldn’t be any more room at the next nearest mercy hall. They would be given medicine if there was some to spare, but they would be turned away and even farther from their lodging.
“Take us back. Is there enough on the fare for that?” Mihály could be useful in this if he wasn’t drunk. A little part of her was also pleased at the chance to alleviate the guilt of leaving him to dine alone.
“Not a problem of money,” the coachwoman said with narrow brows, “The charity is a credit to your soul, but I don’t need the air in my box tainted.”
“Surely you won’t blacken your soul by refusing mercy.”
The woman sighed and gestured to the door. “I’ll be keeping the excess fare.”
The mother hesitated but passed the child over with exhausted arms. There was a high flush on his freckled cheeks, and heat radiated from him like a furnace. At least she felt like herself again as she made soothing noises to the child and felt him relax.
“It’s dangerous to be out at night,” Csilla cautioned, adjusting the boy to rest on her shoulder. “You must have heard what’s been happening.”
“It can’t be worse than Orban.” The woman reached out to smooth the boy’s sweaty hair as he quietly groaned.
“Is that where the illness is?” Orban was a two-week ride away, but there’d been no call for extra hands or supplies from their parishes.
“If only.” Her eyes were steely. “Has the news truly not reached Silgard?”
“It hasn’t reached me,” Csilla answered.
The woman reached around her daughter, pulling her close even as the carriage jostled. “There was a creature sealed in our woods after the Severing, and it woke.”
“Woke?”
She shifted her daughter into her lap and put a hand over the upturned ear. “Woke and took a body. Took a girl, then killed her mother. Only one of our priests could work a banishment. Everyone else was powerless.”
Csilla clutched the boy tighter in horror. “Have they sent—”
“They’ve sent no one, that I know of. Our bishop said the fact that only one priest could claim the glory meant it was no real demon at all. But the old black mark is gone. My brother went and looked. That’s why we’re here.”
She didn’t want to ask, but she had to. “The body of the mother...Was it...defiled in any way? Did you see it?”
“Unfortunately I did. But she was just dead.” The woman blinked like she wanted to cry, but that well was dry and filled in. “At least in Silgard there’s none of that. People are good, and if not good, at least human.”
That’s what everyone new to the city would think.
The cab slowed again, but the hoofbeats turned quick and nervous. Csilla slid back the panel. The dim glow of lights showed nothing without the ability to look ahead.
“What is it?”
“Looks like everyone is on the streets, the blackcoats too. Maybe a fire?”
Or murder. The woman was still looking at her with hope. Csilla’s fingers danced over the brooch pinned to her dress. The sapphires were probably real.
Before she could think too much about how she was robbing both an old woman and the dead, she pulled it off and passed it up through the roof slot. “Take them to the mercy hall by the merchants’ guild.” She touched the woman’s knee. “Ask for Katherina if they won't let you in. And if they have to send you back, this should pay for that, too.”
The woman thanked her for doing so much, but it didn’t warm her when she knew she couldn’t do nearly enough.
Csilla opened the door and hurried to the throng, searching for Mihály. He should have stood well above the crowd, but there was no sign of him. The people she passed were pressed tight together, faces worried, and when she reached out to touch an arm, the person jumped like she was scalding.
“What happened?”
The man drew his finger across his throat like a blade.
Csilla swayed on her feet. So close. “Inside?” Where was Mihály?
“No, out the back and a ways down. It was Janos.”
The name meant nothing to her, but her heart ached all the same.
“Did you see the Izir?”
“Oh, you’re the girl who was with him.” The man looked her over with fresh eyes. He left not long after you did, said he was going home. Lucky he did. The rest of us have to freeze out here until we get permission to leave from the priests.”
No doubt waiting for her now, disappointed. She sighed, taking a measured breath to release her frustration, when a familiar figure caught her eye. The rhythm of Ilan’s sure-footed steps coming towards her echoed in her chest, and fear closed her throat. The iron in his gaze was the weight of every right thing she’d given up, everything Mihály had told her. He would only have to touch a weak spot, and she would confess everything.
He was famously good at finding weak spots, and she was already thin-skinned with guilt.
