Wicked as She Wants by Delilah S. Dawson

foundlings. It would just give us uppity ideas, wouldn’t it?”
    “So you’re an orphan, then?”
    “None of your bloody business.”
    “That again. Your rudeness is intolerable.”
    She snorted. “Just because you’re the bitchiest bloodsucker in London doesn’t mean you’re my boss.”
    I sighed as I uncorked the next vial. Hidden hostility I was used to, but this sort of outspoken hatred was entirely new to me, as anyone in Freesia who spoke to me that way would have been on the dinner table within moments. Was this how all the Pinkies of Sangland felt about Bludmen, or did she have a problem with me in particular? I had to find a way to win her over if I wanted her help.
    “Would you like some books of your own? When we’ve succeeded, I’ll give you free run of the library of the Ice Palace, maybe even give you a few volumes for your own collection. I’ve always enjoyed a good novel. Robertson Crusoe, for example.”
    I plucked the novel off the shelf and admired the green leather cover and gold-leafed pages. Longing rippled briefly over her face, and she gulped. Then her eyes went shifty.
    “What do you want in exchange?”
    “You’re a very wise child.” I held out the book to her. “I just want to make a little detour before we leave. There’s a shop I’ve been meaning to visit. Would you take me there?”
    “Where is it?”
    “I’m not sure. But I know it’s on Ruby Lane.”
    “Ruby Lane? You want me to take you to Ruby Lane?” She threw back her head and laughed, hands on her skinny hips. “That’s a good joke, lady. Casper would skin me whole if I took you there.”
    “What’s so bad about it?”
    “It’s in the heart of Deep Darkside. Chock full of diabolists, bludwhores, opium dens, and the sort of daimon that does more than change color. We’d be lucky to get out alive.”
    I smiled, showing her my fangs, which I knew were stained with blood. “Keen, darling, I may be small and well mannered, but I assure you that I am a killing machine. There is nothing on Ruby Lane that you should fear more than my displeasure.”
    She leaned back against the bookshelf, biting her lip and staring at me. I met her eyes. Neither of us blinked. Normally, I was quite good at reading people. But I had no idea what was going on in that shaggy, ill-bred head of hers.
    “Okay,” she finally said. “But we leave now, without a word to Reve. Deal?”
    “Deal.” I grinned, feeling immensely pleased with myself.
    After all, if things went as I hoped they would, she’d soon be too dead to read any books.

7
    Escape was easier than anticipated, thanks to the overpowering cabaret tunes belting out of Reve’s gramophone—and mouth—as she worked. The daimon had a lovely, husky voice that quavered with unexpected bitterness. We climbed out a back window and dropped into a filthy alley. The conveniently placed rubbish bin and Keen’s mischievous smile told me that she had done this before.
    Following her through the shadows of London was easier this time around, mostly because we stayed in the less-traveled areas. Every turn seemed to take us into a darker, more miserable alley. I got a closer look at the giant maroon rodents that had hissed at me on my way to Reve’s workshop and realized that they weren’t simply bludlemmings of a different color. These things were the size of Tommy Pain, who had decided to sit out this journey on a tufted footstool. Later I’d have to wonder how the cat knew exactly where things would be safer.
    “What is that thing?” I whispered, tugging on Keen’s jacket.
    “Bludrat,” she whispered back over her shoulder. “Just leave it alone.”
    I was happy to comply. Ugly was bad enough, but it was slick with grime, too. I preferred my predators to have some elegance about them. Although I was sure that the bludrats wouldn’t be able to digest me, I didn’t want proof.
    When Keen finally stopped, I almost ran into her. She stood stock-still in front of the darkest