Chapter Six
I’d hardly closed my eyes before the licking began, morning light shining through the shades of my small bedroom window. I shoved Magnus off the bed, groaning, but his snooze button was eternally broken. He jumped right back on the bed and commenced the licking treatment again. I opened an eye and peered at my phone, checking the time.
“Shit!”
Too late. Too damn late. I lunged from the bed, and Magnus cartwheeled off it in confusion. I was already scrambling at the piles of clothing on the floor—my wardrobe—searching for something that could even vaguely be considered clean and presentable. Shirt. Pants. I could do without socks. I put on my boots still standing, hopping on one leg at a time, nearly crashing to the floor. I checked the time again.
“Shit!”
The leash was nowhere to be found. Magnus occasionally hid it, for reasons known only to himself. I tore through the three rooms in a frenzy, finally locating it under a dress I didn’t recall owning. I called Magnus, and he barked with joy and ran over. I tried to fasten the leash to his collar. He kept jumping and barking, his tongue lolling with glee, making it nearly impossible.
“Magnus, sit!” I yelled at him.
Training him was not my strong suit. Presumably, he thought I said, “Magnus, lick my hand and then dribble some pee on the floor in excitement.”
Finally, with the leash latched, we both ran at the door, with me glancing again at the time.
“Oh, shit, shit, shit!”
We dashed outside and down the street. My body began to remind me I had taken quite a beating the day before, and that I hadn’t slept enough since. My head pounded and the wound at my waist burned. I kept running, ignoring the pain. I could handle physical discomfort, but if I missed her… I needed that glimpse. That one glimpse. As long as I got it, I could get through the day, shitty as it was guaranteed to be.
We ran down the street, took a right, and I slowed down, trying to behave as if I were on a normal daily stroll. My eyes searched for her desperately.
Nothing.
The gray Boston sky rumbled, thick dark clouds promising an oncoming rain that matched the state of my morale. I’d missed her. I had slept too late, thinking Magnus would wake me in time, and I had missed her. And it was already Friday, which meant the next time I would see her would be Monday. A tear materialized in my eye, and I let out a small hiccupping sob. Of all the days to have been late…
And then they appeared, coming around the bend, down the street, and I felt a wave of relief. I hadn’t missed her after all.
I strolled casually down the street, just a lady walking her dog. They got closer, and I watched her from the corner of my eye. She chattered incessantly, clutching the woman’s hand, smiling—such a beautiful smile.
My brain drank in the details. The ponytail with the purple headband. The pink boots, white stockings, sky blue skirt, white T-shirt with a kitten. That smile. Those eyes. Her lovely, happy voice as they got closer.
“Good morning.” The woman who held the girl’s hand smiled warmly at me—as she always did, every morning.
“Morning,” I said back, as I always did, hoping she could ignore my bloodshot eyes, my hair, the shirt I had put on inside out.
She didn’t spare me a second glance. Of course she didn’t. I was just another stranger, a woman she saw every morning, walking her dog.
And the five-year-old girl didn’t pay attention to me either. Her attention was focused on Magnus. She smiled at him shyly, and hugged the woman’s leg as they went by us. I wanted to tell her it was okay, he didn’t bite, she could pet him if she wanted, but my voice was gone. Next time. Maybe I could tell her next time.
I drank up her face, her clothes, her smile. Her face became freshly etched in my mind, to remain as it was now, until the next time I saw her.
And then they were gone.
I resisted the desire to glance backward. I couldn’t afford to draw the woman’s attention, or she might notice some strange details.
Like how they met us every morning on their way to the girl’s school. Every single morning.
Like how whenever the girl called her “mommy” as they walked by, I would wince and look away, almost as if I’d been slapped.
Like how her adopted daughter’s eyes looked just like mine—large, round, and chocolatey.
By the time Anthony “Breadknife” Cisternino entered my shop, I was on my third cup of coffee, nursing a raging headache, and feeling as if sleeping with the fishes would be a nice relief.
He instantly dominated the room, as he always did, wherever he was. Breadknife had a sort of charm going for him—intense dark eyes, an expression of some deeper understanding of the universe, and a face that had aged incredibly well. His hair was silvery-white and long, reaching almost to his shoulders. Of course, once you knew him well enough, you realized this charm hid a ruthless, violent, and cold individual. You could put all his compassion and conscience in an envelope, and still have room left for a letter.
I’d heard a joke about him once: “How many Breadknives does it take to change a light bulb? Two. One to change the light bulb, and one to kill you for asking dumb questions.”
If gangsters had a good sense of humor, they’d be comedians instead.
Following in his wake were two of his scariest goons. Matteo “Ear” Ricci was about thirty-five, sleek, with an emotionless face. He was called “Ear” not because he listened well, but because he was known to bite the ears off people when enraged. Rumor claimed he either ate them later or pickled them and kept them as souvenirs, but I was not one to believe bullshit. When I was a young girl, living with the rest of Breadknife’s gang, Matteo had a knack for tormenting all the weak kids, stealing our money and cigarettes, occasionally groping or pinching a girl who walked past him. Whenever I saw him, a flame of hatred instantly kindled in my heart.
The other, Steve O’Sullivan, was my age, and we had originally joined Breadknife’s gang two days apart. He was a bit short, his head square; someone had once joked that he was the perfect shape to be a coffee table. Ha ha ha, he was dead minutes later. Steve was the perfect soldier. He had no original thoughts in his flat head, followed orders without asking questions, and was good at hurting and killing. Despite our acquaintance, he showed no sign of recognition when he glanced at me. Not because he didn’t know who I was, but because for him, it didn’t matter.
“Lou,” Breadknife greeted me with a warm smile. “You’re looking well! Being a shop owner really agrees with you.”
“Thanks, Mr. Cisternino.” I smiled demurely, my heart thumping hard.
“Lou, please, how long have we known each other? Call me Anthony. And how are Sinead and Isabel these days? I haven’t seen them in so long.”
I shrugged, not wanting to drag my friends into the mud with me. “Would you like something to drink… Anthony?”
His eyes locked with mine for a long second, and the charm seemed to seep away from his fixed smile. “Usually when I come here, there’s an envelope on the counter. The first thing you tell me is ‘Here’s your money.’ As if you can’t wait for me to leave—”
“It’s always a pleasure to have you here.”
“Of course it is. But today, there is no envelope. And you are very polite and hospitable.” He looked around him at the store’s shelves, as if wondering if his money was hiding somewhere in the room. “Where is my money, Lou?”
I swallowed. “I’m short.”
“Are you.” It was not positioned as a question. It was more of a statement, with a veiled threat underlying the two syllables.
“I got robbed yesterday. I had it all, but four assholes jumped me… I have a bruise to show for it. They took my bag with all the money I’d made. I have some money in the safe. It was supposed to be for the rent, but maybe I can work something out with the landlord. So it can be an advance, and then next week—”
“An ad-vance.” He frowned, as if I had spoken in Klingon. “It really is a terrible world, when a woman can’t even go to her home without being jumped by criminals. You know, that shouldn’t be a problem for someone as clever as you. I could prevent any further attacks on you. All people need to know is that Lou Vitalis is back with Cisternino, and no one would dare touch you again. I guarantee it. I would even forgive this unfortunate debt you’ve accrued.”
I clenched my fist and gave my head a slight shake. Never again.
He sighed, as if saddened by the folly of youth. “Well… there is the issue of your monthly payment.”
“If you just give me a week… I’ll give you all I have right now, and some really expensive products as collateral.”
“Products?” He quirked his brow. “So I get a small part of my payment, and a jar full of newt eyes as assurance?”
“I have some crystals that—”
Matteo “Ear” Ricci stepped forward, and with a casual swipe, knocked all the jars from one of the shelves to the floor. Three shattered, a putrid smell rising. I glanced at the spilled liquids, praying none of them contained anything poisonous. Luckily, they didn’t. Gripping the counter, I tried to avoid letting my fear show. The blood drained from my face. My hands began to tingle with warmth.
“You know me better than that, Lou,” Breadknife said in a low voice.
Magnus yipped from the bedroom where I had locked him, and I prayed Breadknife wouldn’t notice. God only knew what this monster would do to my puppy.
“As it happens, I have an alternative,” Breadknife continued. “I have a job that needs a professional. It needs the best. It needs you, Lou.”
“I don’t do jobs anymore, Mr. Cisternino,” I said weakly.
“I offer you to come back to my family, and you spit in my face. I suggest an alternative form of payment, and you refuse it,” Breadknife said. His eyes were cold and angry flints. “Very well. Steve, get the gas.”
Steve turned around and left the shop, slamming the door behind him.
“What gas?” I asked.
“This store is insured, yes? I assume that considering your… flammable occupation, it’s insured against fires?”
I remained silent.
“After it burns down, you’ll have the money.”
We stood in silence. Every few seconds, Magnus barked beyond the door. Steve returned with a large red fuel container. He uncorked it and tipped it to the floor. Gasoline began spilling on the wooden boards.
“Wait,” I said.
Steve splashed some gasoline on one of the shelves. Matteo took out a golden lighter, flipping its lid open.
“You should get out of here before it all catches on fire,” Breadknife said.
“There’s an old woman living above this store,” I lied.
“Pity we can’t warn her. It would look suspicious if we do.”
Steve scuffled around the store, leaving behind him a trail of gasoline that led to the counter. Matteo switched on his lighter, and a flickering flame materialized. He stared at it in fascination.
“Please don’t burn my store.”
“Will you do the job?”
“I… I can’t.” I couldn’t go back to prison. If I stayed outside, and out of trouble, perhaps one day I could connect with my daughter again. Get to know her. Perhaps I could feel those tiny hands holding mine. But if I started working for Breadknife again, there were only two ways it could end: with me either behind bars, or dead.
Matteo crouched to set fire to the gasoline.
“Boys.” Breadknife’s voice changed. It had an edge to it now. “Leave me and Ms. Vitalis alone.”
“Uh… are you sure, sir?” Matteo asked, straightening.
Breadknife whipped around, fast as a snake. “Never question me!”
Matteo nodded, his face suddenly terrified. He backed to the door and quickly left. Steve followed.
Breadknife turned back to me. “Normally, I would just burn this store to the ground, Lou. You know that, right?”
I nodded, dumb.
“But I need this job done. And you’re the only one who can do it.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cisternino, but—”
“What would your daughter say about it?”
The words died on my lips.
“What would her adoptive parents say, if they knew their daughter’s criminal biological mother lived just a few minutes away, and was stalking their adopted child, Tammi?”
My hands were smoldering, and I clenched them, trying to still the flames threatening to erupt. A fire right now, in the gasoline-soaked store, would be disastrous. How did he know? How had he found out? I had been so careful!
“We have only two options, Lou,” he said simply. “The first is that you do the job for me, and I forget the debt ever existed. In the other, the shop burns, and Tammi finds out her real mother is a criminal. Her adoptive parents will find out as well. I assume they’ll take legal actions to keep you away from her. After all, what parent wouldn’t do everything in his power to protect his child?”
My shoulders slumped, and the feeling of defeat made the heat in my hands dissipate. “Okay,” I whispered. “One more job.”
Magically, the smile reappeared on Breadknife’s face. “Fantastic!”
I took a moment to compose myself. Breadknife had shaken me to the core, but I couldn’t let emotions cloud my judgment. Steve had left the gasoline canister on the floor. I went over to it and screwed the cap back on it, taking long, measured breaths. When I felt like I was in control again, I turned to Breadknife and asked in an almost cheerful voice, “What do you need me to steal?”
Breadknife peered at me for a moment. “You’re an alchemist. Do you know what the Yliaster crystal is?”
I snorted. “Sure. It’s an alchemical legend, like the philosopher’s stone. Supposedly it can be used to store a soul just before a person dies. It’s just another story, a false hope for immortality.”
“I have an acquaintance who believes there is a box containing the Yliaster crystal in Boston.”
“Your acquaintance is an idiot.”
“I suggest that you don’t say that again.” Breadknife’s voice became steely, cold.
I was taken aback. I had never seen him care about anyone but himself. “Okay then. He’s not an idiot, but he’s wrong. Trust me, there’s no such thing.”
Breadknife shrugged. “But there is a box. Containing a crystal. It took me and my acquaintance a long time to find it, Lou. The box was lost when Troy fell.”
“The Troy? With Helen and Achilles and the wooden horsey?”
“That’s the one. Some think Odysseus himself had found the box and taken it with him—isn’t that rich? For centuries, no one had seen it. And then suddenly, there were witnesses. Claiming it had surfaced in a market in Beirut. Sold to its current owner. Stored in a safe. Inside a vault. Which is where you must break into. That’s what I want, and what my acquaintance wants. The box with the Yliaster crystal.”
“And where is this vault? Because I’m not keen on breaking into a bank. I mean… burglary is one thing, but bank robbing…”
“It’s not in a bank.”
I sighed in relief. “Good.”
“It’s in Ddraig Goch’s mansion.”
I blinked, my heart sinking. “Ddraig Goch… the dragon?”
“That’s the one.”
“But the thing is—he’s a dragon.”
“Yes.”
“Like, one of those fire-eating, ass-kicking lizards.”
“That’s what a dragon is, yes.”
“And you want to steal from it.”
“No. I want you to steal from it.”
I needed a drink, and it was just after ten in the morning. “Can we rob a bank instead?”
“This is the job, Lou. I told you, it’s a big one. I need the best.”
“You need the craziest.”
Breadknife’s smile widened, and he said nothing.
“No one ever stole something from a dragon and lived to tell about it.”
“Well.” Breadknife clapped his hands together, satisfied. “You always told me you wanted to be famous.”