“Good,” nodded the creature in her cowl. Behind her were colors, rioting jewel tones, but Ischade was all white and black. Black. “Come in.” Black eyes, so deep you could sleep in them. –
Don’t fall into any trap. Don’t look at her too long. “Crit?” On tiptoes. “Crit?” The swathed shape moves away. “C/7Y?”
There he is, with two men she recognized: Vis, and a beggar with a stutter, a creature called Mor-am. Wrong company, wrong place, wrong something going down here.
Kama shivered and feit throwing stars she’d gotten from Niko nestled in her belt. Could you kill anything here? Would it stay dead? Could she take out the beggar, the mere, and Ischade if Crit needed that much help?
She could try, couldn’t do less. But then Crit came slowly to the door, his gait telegraphing annoyance, but nothing worse. “Good evening,” he said and Kama couldn’t figure where the vampire had disappeared to. “What brings you here, Kama?”
He somehow shouldered her outside and then the door was closed, his hands on her shoulders, tight and hard, digging. “Fool,” Crit whispered, “don’t mix in this. I’ve got enough troubles.” His lips hardly moved when he spoke; the hollows under his cheeks were too deep; his whole bearing was wrong and she was terrified.
“Crit, gods, whatever it is, you can’t do it alone. Strat’s with me, we’re here to-“
“Strat? With you? He bunks here, Kama. Sleeps here. Does whatever he does here. For her. Not us. Go away. I’m finding someone for Torchholder. Special orders.”
She tried to shake off his grip. It wouldn’t shake. She said defiantly, “Whatever you’re doing, I’m doing. Special orders.”