Page 37 of The Kiss & The Killer (Faery Bargains 2)

Iggy grinned. “Say it slower.”

“Dam . . .fi . . no. Damned if I know.” I laughed the laugh of the tipsy. “If I trusted you, I might actually grow to like you.”

Iggy put the cigar back in his pocket. “You’ve seen Bea, have you? Woman doesn’t trust anyone.”

“Especially assassins.” I watched for reactions, but I was fairly sure I wasn’t the first to ask about his avocation.

Iggy held my gaze. “You’re innocent then? No blood on those calloused hands?”

“Wasn’t talking about me.” I shrugged.

“The world wasn’t kind to hexen even then.” Iggy swirled my glass of whisky. “Least I wasn’t a woman, a Jew, and Irishman. Plenty of hate those days.”

“Still is,” I interjected.

“Fear, though, if it’s deep enough makes hate pause and look for an easier victim. I was never an easy victim.” Iggy lifted my glass, taking a long sniff. “Damn shame I cannot drink.”

“Why would a privileged man need to—”

“Do you think I was born with this name, Hexen? That I was to the manor born?” He sounded like he was both laughing at me and challenging me. “My knuckles were bloodied, and my trousers worn when I decided to create Ignatius Blackwood.”

“If I knew your real name—”

“No one does, Hexen. Not even the lovelydraugrqueen. . . andthatone knows the map of my scars.”

Even tipsy, I realized that my lack of his name might be the secret to why I couldn’t force him into his grave. And I knew that he was the one telling me that truth. If I knew, I might be able to put him back, but he was banking on the temptation of knowledge to keep me from doing so.

“Going to patrol,” I called. “Just looping a few blocks with Iggikins.”

It wasn’t quite asking if Eli minded, but I was allowing a moment for his objections. When none came, I walked over to the bar and asked, “Wait for me?”

“Haven’t I been waiting long enough?” Eli murmured.

I smacked a loud kiss on him. “Soon.”

Then I grabbed a sword, a go-cup of blood and coffee, and headed to the door. “Come on, Iggypoo.”

“Has anyone told you that you could charm the wings off a fly, Geneviève?” Iggy groused as he stepped into the street with me.

“Nope.”

“Shocking.” He motioned for me to pause. “Roll out the senses. Visualize the grid.”

“The grid?” I blinked at him.

“The streets, the river, the graves, the parks . . .”

As he spoke, I tried his way. It was a more orderly version of my “let my magic free” approach.

“Close your eyes,” he said. “I’m at your side watching.”

Typically, I’d refuse such a suggestion, but we were mere steps from Eli’s place. So I let my eyes drop briefly.

“Adjust your vision. You arehexen. Necromancy. Magic. Chain it to your will.” Iggy’s voice felt like it was inside my head, like I could glimpse him out the corner of my eye. Firmly, he ordered, “Open but hold the map.”

When I opened my eyes, Iggy was a shadow of a person at my side, and the city looked different. Traces of deaths were on the ground, buildings, or trees in purple splotches.

“Darker is newer,” Iggy said, voice strained.