fighter. He’d gotten very rich off divination—futures trading was a snap when you could
predict the future,
even somewhat imperfectly—and most of the heavy hitters in town owed him favors because of information he’d provided over the years. Gregor was a lurker in shadows, basically Marla’s polar opposite. They couldn’t stand each other, but she’d use him if he was the right tool for the job.
She flipped open her cell phone and dialed. “Rondeau! I sent a guy over to the nightclub. His name’s Ted. He’s my new personal assistant. Get him set up with the Rolodex.”
“The Rolodex,” Rondeau said. “What century do you think it is exactly? We keep all that stuff on computers. Or we
should.
In practice, you just have a big pile of notes and business cards all over your desk.”
“Whatever,” Marla said. “Just show him where everything is, all right?” She flipped the phone shut. The wind gusted, and she looked up at the buildings around her, half expecting them to flutter in the wind. But, for now, everything was solid, metal and glass and cold concrete, just as it should be. “Fucking reweavers.” She lowered her head and hurried on. “Like dealing with the world as it
is
isn’t hard enough.”
5
“U nless you have Marla’s heart in your coat pocket,” Gregor said, “I’m very disappointed to see you.” He sat in a deep wingback chair behind an ultramodern glass-and-metal desk, its surface as smooth and flawless as Gregor himself. Nicolette sat off to one side, loudly smacking a wad of chewing gum and smirking.
Z stood, hands clasped behind his back, reminding himself this was only a job, just a job. He imagined tossing Gregor out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to fall screaming thirteen floors to the pavement below, letting some dirty city air into this sterile and climate-controlled space. Everything in Gregor’s presence was simply too neat. Except for Nicolette, who was messy, and—as Z’s mother might have said—no better than she seemed to be.
“Well?” Gregor said. “You used to be a slow assassin—I didn’t realize the word ‘slow’ referred to your mental faculties, or your power of speech. Why are you here?”
Those who knew Z treated him with respect, and those who did not know him could still sense that Zealand was not the sort of person who tolerated rudeness. That was part of the problem with sorcerers—they thought they were better than everyone else. But there was no point in getting worked up over Gregor. This was just a job. “I’m afraid Marla disappeared while I was tracking her. You asked me to come to you in person if anything unusual happened while I watched her.” He shrugged. “I thought vanishing qualified.”
Nicolette snapped her gum, and Gregor winced. Zealand smiled, but only on the inside. She said, “You sure you didn’t just lose track of her? You checked to see if your shoelace was undone, and when you looked up, she was gone? Like that?”
Zealand wasn’t sure what Nicolette’s role was exactly—whether she was Gregor’s bodyguard, private secretary, lover, or something else. She was petite, a little birdlike, with fine bone structure, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous; you could never judge a sorcerer’s capabilities by looking. Her whole personality, and her messy bleached-white hair—festooned with ribbons, tiny plastic monkeys, rubber scorpions, feathers, and other things—injected a wide streak of chaos into Gregor’s domain. Gregor wouldn’t tolerate such disorder if she didn’t have
something
to offer. Zealand thought it best to tread lightly.
“No,” he said, addressing Gregor. “I did not lose track of her. I followed her to Hamil’s apartment, and waited until she emerged. I trailed her for a few blocks, and then she vanished.”
“You must have spooked her,” Gregor said, dark eyebrows drawn down. “She
can
fly.”
“She didn’t fly. I was
watching
her. I would have noticed
predict the future,
even somewhat imperfectly—and most of the heavy hitters in town owed him favors because of information he’d provided over the years. Gregor was a lurker in shadows, basically Marla’s polar opposite. They couldn’t stand each other, but she’d use him if he was the right tool for the job.
She flipped open her cell phone and dialed. “Rondeau! I sent a guy over to the nightclub. His name’s Ted. He’s my new personal assistant. Get him set up with the Rolodex.”
“The Rolodex,” Rondeau said. “What century do you think it is exactly? We keep all that stuff on computers. Or we
should.
In practice, you just have a big pile of notes and business cards all over your desk.”
“Whatever,” Marla said. “Just show him where everything is, all right?” She flipped the phone shut. The wind gusted, and she looked up at the buildings around her, half expecting them to flutter in the wind. But, for now, everything was solid, metal and glass and cold concrete, just as it should be. “Fucking reweavers.” She lowered her head and hurried on. “Like dealing with the world as it
is
isn’t hard enough.”
5
“U nless you have Marla’s heart in your coat pocket,” Gregor said, “I’m very disappointed to see you.” He sat in a deep wingback chair behind an ultramodern glass-and-metal desk, its surface as smooth and flawless as Gregor himself. Nicolette sat off to one side, loudly smacking a wad of chewing gum and smirking.
Z stood, hands clasped behind his back, reminding himself this was only a job, just a job. He imagined tossing Gregor out one of the floor-to-ceiling windows to fall screaming thirteen floors to the pavement below, letting some dirty city air into this sterile and climate-controlled space. Everything in Gregor’s presence was simply too neat. Except for Nicolette, who was messy, and—as Z’s mother might have said—no better than she seemed to be.
“Well?” Gregor said. “You used to be a slow assassin—I didn’t realize the word ‘slow’ referred to your mental faculties, or your power of speech. Why are you here?”
Those who knew Z treated him with respect, and those who did not know him could still sense that Zealand was not the sort of person who tolerated rudeness. That was part of the problem with sorcerers—they thought they were better than everyone else. But there was no point in getting worked up over Gregor. This was just a job. “I’m afraid Marla disappeared while I was tracking her. You asked me to come to you in person if anything unusual happened while I watched her.” He shrugged. “I thought vanishing qualified.”
Nicolette snapped her gum, and Gregor winced. Zealand smiled, but only on the inside. She said, “You sure you didn’t just lose track of her? You checked to see if your shoelace was undone, and when you looked up, she was gone? Like that?”
Zealand wasn’t sure what Nicolette’s role was exactly—whether she was Gregor’s bodyguard, private secretary, lover, or something else. She was petite, a little birdlike, with fine bone structure, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t dangerous; you could never judge a sorcerer’s capabilities by looking. Her whole personality, and her messy bleached-white hair—festooned with ribbons, tiny plastic monkeys, rubber scorpions, feathers, and other things—injected a wide streak of chaos into Gregor’s domain. Gregor wouldn’t tolerate such disorder if she didn’t have
something
to offer. Zealand thought it best to tread lightly.
“No,” he said, addressing Gregor. “I did not lose track of her. I followed her to Hamil’s apartment, and waited until she emerged. I trailed her for a few blocks, and then she vanished.”
“You must have spooked her,” Gregor said, dark eyebrows drawn down. “She
can
fly.”
“She didn’t fly. I was
watching
her. I would have noticed
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