Duplicate charms were a real party and just the latest in a line of new magic the Crafters in their camp had created.
Tavia could get used to the power amp.
“Guess you’re outnumbered now,” Tavia said. “And maybe I couldn’t take you alone in a fight, but I bet the seven of us could kick the crap out of you no problem.”
Nolan’s eyes were wide, his voice breathy with disbelief. “What in the name of the Many Gods is this?”
“Magic,” Tavia said.
And with enough force to make even Karam crack a smile, she hit Nolan square across the jaw.
He went down in an instant, his backpack dropping onto the ground beside him.
“You’re going to pay for that,” he said, clutching his jaw. “My underboss taught me how to—”
“Let me tell you about my underboss,” Tavia said.
She knelt down beside him and her many selves smiled onward in encouragement.
“His name was Wesley Thornton Walcott, and do you want to know what he taught me?”
Nolan flinched.
It was enough of an answer. Wesley’s name was legend in the realm and synonymous with awful things Tavia preferred not to think about.
She snatched Nolan’s backpack from the ground and stood.
“This is the part where I thank you for your donation to our war effort,” Tavia said, tapping the backpack just like Nolan had. “All the tricks and charms of Rishiya. All the magic I could ever hope for. What a steal.”
“Laugh all you want for now,” Nolan said. “But when the Kingpin tears apart your city and burns everyone in it, I’ll be there. I’ll be by his side with the loyal buskers, and not even your big bad underboss will be able to stop the fire-gates from raining down on you and everyone you love.”
Tavia swallowed.
She didn’t want his words to hit close to home, but they did.
Dante Ashwood was already attacking districts within Creije and ripping apart everything about the city that Tavia had fallen in love with.
It was her home.
Wesley’s home.
And right now she was powerless to save it.
Without her ruthless underboss to lead the buskers, Tavia was the only one left to fill the shoes of leadership among the crooks they had gathered, and yet she couldn’t even put a bullet in a guy like Nolan.
Wesley wouldn’t have hesitated. He wouldn’t have stopped to chat and trade blows.
“Save your breath,” Tavia said, trying to paint on her old smile. “You’re going to need it for the long walk back to your underboss. I doubt he’ll be happy that you got boosted on your own territory. Looks like you’re in for a heap of trouble from dear old Casim.”
She hitched the backpack onto her shoulder and turned from Nolan, her many selves following the action in a perfect reflection.
Only, there were now a dozen Rishiyat buskers standing in front of her, armed to the teeth with magic and guns. And not a one of them looked happy to see her.
“You need a hand, Nolan?” one of them asked.
From behind Tavia, the busker’s laugh echoed.
“Now who’s outnumbered?” Nolan said.
And then his friends charged at her.
For a moment Tavia had almost forgotten that she wasn’t alone, before the six other versions of herself jumped in the way. They met Nolan’s friends with fists and knives, taking on two or three each and creating a blockade between the buskers and Tavia.
Her many selves may not have had magic of their own, but they could throw a better punch than she could.
Tavia smiled onward at them, feeling an odd sense of pride, but she had only a few seconds to live in that moment before she felt herself being pulled violently back.
Nolan was yanking at her hair, keeping Tavia pressed against him. She wriggled against his grip, but the bastard was strong and the more she struggled, the more he pulled. The more his chest seemed to bounce with laughter.
“You’re not so cocky now, are you?” he whispered in her ear.
His breath was warm and damp, and Tavia flinched away.
Nolan pushed his knife to her throat, pressing it with enough force that Tavia felt the blade draw a small line of blood across her neck. It dripped down to her chest.
At that, her duplicate selves paused slightly, twitched, as though the blade had touched them, too.
Tavia cursed.
She needed focus for them to work properly. She needed to not be distracted by a blade at her damn throat.
“Any last words?” Nolan asked.
“Yeah,” Tavia said. The blade nicked her again as she spoke. “Never get this close to an enemy.”
She threw her head back, skull cracking into Nolan’s lip. His teeth dug into her and she felt the moment his blood sprayed outward onto the back of her neck.
Nolan screamed and fell to the ground, and Tavia didn’t hesitate before she grabbed the backpack from where it had fallen beside him.
“You stupid little b—”
Tavia didn’t wait to hear the end of that sentence.
She ran, faster than she’d ever run before.
She could still hear her six duplicate selves struggling to fight off the attackers, their grunts growing fainter with each step she took.
Djnfj.
It was not the best situation she had ever put herself in.
Especially since duplicate charms didn’t last long and once the Rishiyat buskers had destroyed her magic selves, they were going to haul ass to catch up with her and tear her a new one.
Tavia almost regretted going at this alone. Karam had warned her that leaving camp unsupervised would be dangerous. Bringing a busker or two along for the ride would’ve been the smart play, but Tavia had to show them that she could get things sorted alone. That they could rely on her to do whatever needed to be done. She couldn’t lead people if she was always relying on them to help her.
Anyway, there were worse things than being killed, and one of them was knowing that Karam was right.
Tavia rounded a corner, breathless.
She wasn’t sure how much longer she could keep running, and she really didn’t want to resort to using her newly stolen magic to escape.
She needed it.
Their army needed it.
Not just the time charms, but the rest, too. Every new busker they recruited needed new magic to protect themselves against Ashwood’s army of Crafters and Loj-infected civilians, and there was only so much magic that their own Crafters could generate. Apparently, spinning new spells into charms took more time than she had originally thought.
What Tavia needed now was a hiding place.
She turned another corner and the sound of music echoed over.
In the curve of the street, caught between an alley and a tree that reached for the night sky, was just the thing she needed.
The Last Hope.
When she’d scouted the bar as a place to lie low in case anything went wrong, she hadn’t actually expected—or wanted—to use it. Rishiya didn’t have much in terms of a nightlife, especially to someone who’d grown up on the streets of Creije, and this place was famous for boring booze and big bouncers.
It also, apparently, didn’t take kindly to buskers. Which made it pretty perfect for wanting to escape Nolan and his band of bastards.
Tavia ran past the small queue and straight to the man guarding the door, who she’d already slipped a whole load of coin earlier that day. She flashed him her best smile and with a quick nod, he moved to push her through, something Karam—who took her job as a guard pretty seriously—would have frowned upon.