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Audio CD
First published January 1, 2011
“Are you the jack?” she asked when she reached my table. She leaned down toward me as she spoke, silhouetting herself against the only light in the room—a dim and badly scarred magelight chandelier.
“I’m a jack, and open to hire if you’re looking for one.” A jack of shadows, the underworld’s all-purpose freelancer—how very far I’d fallen from the old days. I’m a shadow jack, of course, but never a black one. I’ll take risks if the money looks right and I’m not fussed about the law, but I won’t ghost anyone for you. Not for anyone else either, for that matter.” I was done with the blood trade. Triss and I had long since sent our share of souls to the lords of judgment and their great wheel of rebirth. More than our share. It was her turn to nod though the frown stayed. “I’m not looking for contract murder, just a bit of sensitive delivery service.”
Courier work and its close cousin, smuggling, provided the bulk of my income these days. Shadowside, but not the deep dark. Few jacks anywhere could boast a better reputation for quiet deliveries, but then, I had Triss. And that was the sort of advantage that not more than a score of people in the whole wide world could boast. Out of the corner of my eye I saw my shadow shifting slowly leftward as if seeking a better view of the young woman. I leaned that way as well, to cover the shadow’s movements, and accidentally elbowed my whiskey bottle off the table. It thudded into the straw but didn’t break. Not that it mattered. I’d finished the last of the contents twenty minutes ago. Which, in all honesty, might have had something to do with my knocking it over.
“Hang on a tick,” I said, and bent to pick the bottle out of the moldering straw.I took the opportunity offered by the cover of the table to make a sharp “no” signal to Triss with my left hand.
“Back as soon as ever I am able, my lady.” A couple of lanterns filled with the cheapest oil money could buy guttered and sputtered in the yard.
On nights like this, with the moon near her nadir, even night-trained eyes like mine had trouble, and Jerik’s lamps provided just enough illumination to find the privies. I closed the door behind me and wedged it shut with a thin knife pulled from the sheath on my left wrist.
I turned a stern eye on my now much-clearer shadow, and demanded, “What are you trying to pull?”
Though my arms remained tight to my sides, the shadow’s arms lifted and broadened into wings at the same time its legs fused themselves together into something much longer and narrower. Combine that with the way the head and neck respectively flattened and lengthened, and you no longer had a shape that looked even remotely human. In fact, were you to go by the form and movement of my shadow alone, you could be forgiven for making the assumption that I had become a rather small and agitated dragon.
My shadow, or rather the Shade that inhabited it, tilted his head to one side and shot out a long slender shadow of a forked tongue to touch my cheek. And that was Triss.