“No. Me and my friend,” she said as she nodded toward the open window, “we got nowhere.”
The wizard turned to walk toward the window, and Skate took her chance. She charged forward and almost dropped the knife from her belt. She snatched it up and, at the same time, pushed the old man out of her way. The old man grunted as she ran past him through the open window and took a flying leap, hoping to land against the other wall, then blunt the rest of the fall into the snow.
Three feet outside the window, Skate slowed, then stopped. She spun slowly in midair, suspended by nothing. Twitch was where she’d left him and was staring up at her, mouth agape.
“Run!” she said, before flying back through the window. The midnight alley disappeared in a blur, and the window clicked shut behind her as she, for the third time that night, passed through it. Dizzy from the sudden shifts in direction, Skate skidded to a stop near the middle of the room, a few feet from the fireplace with the small statue. She scrambled to her feet and found herself staring into the face of the old man.
She didn’t have the dagger anymore; the sheath was lying on the floor a few feet from her. The old man was glaring at her. He impatiently gestured again, this time toward the rack of firewood, and three logs slammed into the hearth. With another flash of his hands and some words that Skate couldn’t make out, the old man stretched a palm out. A thick blast of fire flew from his crooked fingers into the fireplace with such force that the logs almost came tumbling out to land on her. They didn’t, and the room now glowed orange and red from a crackling fire.
“What were you thinking?” the wizard said, gesturing toward the window. “That is at least eight feet off of street level. You could have broken a bone!” He walked over to the window and looked down below. “Surely, you didn’t think the snow would help—”
There was a metallic click against stone, and he stopped talking. He looked down at his side, and in the shadowy illumination, Skate could not see what he was looking at. Then he took three unsteady steps closer, and she gasped. It was the blade, buried right up to the hilt into his side. In her mad dash out the window, it had flown out of its sheath and stuck him.
No blood stained the robe yet. The old man was staring at the knife in disbelief.
A wave of nausea washed over Skate. Don’t think about it. He’ll fall, and I’ll run. I’ll yell for help on the way, and maybe the healers at the church can help him.
The wizard placed a hand on the hilt and stuck his chin out pugnaciously. “You stabbed me.” He stomped right over to her. “You stabbed me! What is wrong with you? This could have hurt me!” He pulled the jeweled blade out. It was clean. With another wordless gesture from him, the discarded sheath clattered off the floor and floated over. He put the knife back in its holder and then placed it on the shelf. “Explain yourself!”
“I—I—what do you mean, ‘explain myself’?” Already confused, Skate found a scolding too much to handle. “You’re a wizard, and obviously a hard one,” she said, waving a hand at the fireplace, “and you’d just caught me trying to nick your stuff. I had to get out, didn’t I? I just tried to knock you down, not cut you. And how aren’t you hurt?” She pointed an accusatory finger toward the apparently harmless wound in his side. “Is it a fake dagger or magic or what?”
“Don’t go trying to change the subject, young lady,” the wizard said. Skate felt the flush of heat as her cheeks turned red in embarrassed anger. “You can’t just go around stabbing people you’re afraid of.”
“Who else are you supposed to stab?” Skate asked, throwing her hands up. That she had not actually meant to stab anyone had temporarily slipped her mind.
“Well, if you’re going to insist on stabbing other people, then you can cross my name off your ‘stab if you feel like it’ list, because I won’t have any more of it, and it won’t do you any good anyway. What’s your name?”
“What?”
“Your name.” His tone was less offended now, and back to being merely haughty. He ran his hand across the fabric of his robe, and as he did so, the jagged cut disappeared. “You’ve got one, haven’t you?”
“Skate,” she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.
“That’s not a name.”
“Is so. It’s the only one I got.” The only one I got now.
The old man rolled his eyes. “Fine, ‘Skate.’ Were you lying about a friend outside? I didn’t see anybody.”
“Yes.” Twitch needed to stay away from this man. He hadn’t hurt her yet, but no wizard was ever truly safe to be around. Her eyes reflexively darted to the fireplace. “There’s no one.”
“Why?”
“To get you to go look so I could escape.”
“So you could escape by stabbing me.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, and now it was her turn to roll her eyes. “I’m so sorry for stabbing you, mister, okay? Even though it was an accident, even though it didn’t hurt you at all, even though it didn’t even scratch your clothes for very long, I’m sorry for using your own knife—that I stole,” she added, seeing him about to interrupt and correctly guessing what that interruption was going to be. “That I stole from you. I am very, truly sorry that I accidentally stabbed you to try to get away from your home. Okay?”
A long time passed in silence. “Okay.” The wizard went over to the front door and put his hand on the handle, but checked his movement. He turned toward her, the hint of a red glare still in his eyes. “Do you really not have anywhere to go?”
“No.” She could return to one of the Ink’s hideouts around the city, but showing up empty-handed after a job was frowned upon amongst the thieves, thugs, and murderers who made up the rank and file of the group. Boss Marshall wouldn’t be happy, certainly, especially after she and Twitch had promised a sizable score. The half-truth seemed a safe bet. “I don’t. I really was stealing in order to survive.” This last part, she took some small pride in, was absolutely true. Easy to lie with some truth mixed in.
There was more silence. The old man’s hand stayed unmoving on the latch. Skate had the sense that he wasn’t really looking at her, but had simply fixed his eyes on her while thinking. His neatly trimmed white moustache twitched. When he spoke, his thin beard bobbed up and down. “Rattle! Blanket!” he shouted at the stairs. Refocusing on Skate, he asked, “Would you like to stay here, then? At least until morning?” His hand dropped to his side. “I find that I can’t turn you out into the cold.”
Skate opened her mouth, then closed it again. As far as she could tell, he could turn her out into the cold and would have every right to do so—or burn her to a crisp, or turn her over to the Guard. She’d been caught red-handed stealing his stuff. You also stabbed the old man; don’t forget that. “I wouldn’t mind, I guess,” she said, not wanting to offend him.
“Good. I can’t offer much in the way of comfort. Rattle is bringing the only blanket I have down. Here he is now.” The blanket came first, but Rattle took all of her attention. For a moment, Skate wished she still had the blade. A yelp escaped her.