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Author's Note: This is chapter two of One-Eyed Jack and the Suicide King , and also a stand- alone short story in its own right. House of the Rising Sun Elizabeth Bear Sycorax smiled at me through the mantilla shadowing her eyes: eyes untouched by that smile. She lolled against a wrought-iron railing, one narrow hip thrust out, dyed red hair tumbling out of the black spiderweb of her shawl, looking like a Mac Rebenak song come to life. The dead quickly grow thin. She licked her lips with a long pale tongue and even the semblance of amusement fell away. "You're pale, Tribute. No coup tonight?" "Nothing appealed." Tribute wasn't my real name any more than Sycorax was hers. She leaned into me, pressed a hand to my throat. Her flesh lay like ice against the chill of my skin. "I told you to hunt." "I hunted." Backing away, red nails trailing down my chest. I hunted. Hunted and returned emptyhanded. It's as much how you hear the orders as how they're given. She followed close on my steps, driving me before her. Ragged black chiffon clung and drifted around her calves; she reached up to lace china fingers in the fine hairs at the nape of my neck. Her face against my throat was waxen: too long unfed. "You weaken me on purpose, Tribute. Give me what you have." She needed me, needed me |
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