Read Online Dark Currents by Lindsay Buroker - Free Book Online Page A

arms.
    “Vonsha?” he asked.
    Blood saturated the front of her shirt and dripped from a shard of wood embedded in her neck. Closer to her collarbone than her throat, it did not appear to have hit the jugular, but he hesitated to pull it out, fearing that would make the injury worse.
    Light—no, flames—grew behind them. Fire.
    The light revealed movement, someone stepping out of an aisle farther down the wall. The figure, a young man in ill-fitting clothing, lifted a crossbow and aimed for Books’s chest.
    “Sicarius!” Books blurted. “Would you take care of this bloke?”
    The crossbowman spun to look behind him. Too bad Sicarius was not truly there.
    Unable to move quickly or draw his knife without dropping Vonsha, Books shuffled toward the aisle they had exited, hoping his ruse would buy them time. The shelves chose that second to collapse, barring the route.
    Even with wood crackling nearby, Books heard the twang of the crossbow bolt firing. He ducked his head, and turned his shoulder. The bolt flew high.
    Books set Vonsha down, prepared to attack the archer, but he halted. The rumpled man dropped the weapon. Eyes wide, face frozen in a rictus of pain, he went down.
    Sicarius stood above him, his black dagger dripping blood. Books gaped, surprised his summons had worked. A hint of annoyance hardened Sicarius’s dark eyes, and Books imagined him thinking,
I can’t leave for five minutes without you getting into trouble…
    “There are others,” Sicarius said. “Get out.”
    “Out is good.” Books reached for Vonsha, intending to sling her over his shoulder.
    “Leave her.”
    “No.”
    Books lifted Vonsha without waiting to argue. He turned his back on Sicarius and followed the outer wall, figuring the aisles were too dangerous. Numerous sets of shelves had toppled, and flames burned in several rows as well as on the ceiling, which was charred from the explosion. Heat rolled from the growing fire, warming Books’s cheeks and forehead.
    Behind him, someone screamed. It ended abruptly.
    With the corner closest to the front door in sight, Books broke into a jog. He rounded it and almost crashed into the homeless man—and the pistol in his grip.
    Hands busy holding Vonsha, Books jumped to the side and lashed out with a kick. His shoulder rammed the wall, but his boot found its target. The pistol flew from the man’s grip. Books shoved him into the wall and ran past. He only wanted to get out of the building with Vonsha, not start a fight. Besides, Sicarius could handle that more proficiently.
    No one else blocked his route on the way to the front door, but a steam horn pierced the air in the street outside. Someone must have heard the explosion and reported it.
    He paused at the threshold, juggling Vonsha so he could free a hand to open the door. He peered outside. Two steam wagons painted with enforcer red and silver chugged to a stop in front of the building.
    Books wavered. As far as he knew, he had no bounty on his head, but the enforcers might know he worked with questionable types by now. He glanced over his shoulder, expecting Sicarius to be behind him. Someone was there, yes, but it was not Sicarius.
    A spiked club whistled toward his eyes. Books ducked, but not quickly enough. The club glanced off the top of his head, and pain erupted in his skull.
    He stumbled back, losing his grip on Vonsha. She hit the ground and moaned.
    Books’s attacker, another man who looked as if he had come off the streets, swiped at him again. Dodging, Books reached for his dagger. Blood dripped in his eyes, and numbness made pulling the weapon out harder than it should have been.
    Shouts came from outside along with footsteps pounding up stairs. Books cursed and ducked another wild swing. The man had the finesse of a steamroller, but it was all he needed. Dizziness gripped Books, and his limbs were not moving quickly enough. He swiped blood out of his eyes and almost cut himself with his own knife.
    “Not thinking,”