Damian FINUCANE's Arc

Chapter 21 of 57

Damian walked out of the grove with a clean blade and no rest in him. Parker was finished, but the man who paid Parker still sat in the glass tower. Damian went back to the one place that tied them together. He returned to the bright juice shop at the tower's base, where the envelopes changed hands. He needed to see the drop again before he moved on the tower. Inside, the shop smelled of cut fruit and warm bread. A worker wiped the counter behind the register. Damian ordered nothing. He watched the door to the tower stairs at the back. Then he heard a low hum. Slow. Jazz. His stomach dropped. Parker stood by the drink case, an envelope already in his hand. He had not gone home. He had come here. "You lied," Damian said. "You said you were done." Parker turned. His round face was calm. "I said I wouldn't fight you." He tapped the envelope. "Then I got new orders. The man in the tower wants you gone. He'll pay double." He set the envelope on the counter. "I told you what it is. A man pays. I hum my song." Parker's hand went under his coat. Damian saw the blade come up fast, aimed low at his gut. No warning this time. No mercy offered. Damian drew and turned in one move. The gemmed blade caught Parker's thrust and pushed it wide. They crashed against the service counter. Cups fell. The worker screamed and dropped behind the register. Parker cut high, then low, then stepped inside. The old pattern. Damian knew every part of it. He let the low cut pass his hip. He stepped in as Parker stepped in. Their bodies met close. Damian's blade went up under Parker's ribs. The runes bit deep. Parker's humming cut off. His eyes went wide and blue and surprised. Parker sank against the drink case. His knife slid from his fingers. "You waited," he said, breath thin. "In the grove. You could have. You didn't." "You came back," Damian said. "You chose it." Parker's hand found the fallen envelope. He pressed it into Damian's palm. Blood smeared the paper. "The tower," he whispered. "Top floor. He signs these himself." His head dropped. The breath left him. The killer of Damian's father was dead on the shop floor. Damian stood over the body. His hands did not shake. This had not been the grove. This had been a strike met by a strike, and the man had died in the doing. It felt clean, and that scared him more than blood. He opened the envelope. Inside lay a folded order and a single line of neat writing at the bottom. A signature. Damian could not read the name, but the ink was fresh and sharp. The man at the top of the tower had just told Damian how to find him.