ItCP24

## Chapter 24

**Chapter 24** of **Into the Crooked Place** from **Tavia's** perspective.

## **Full Version**

“ARE WE REALLY GOING to do this?” Tavia asked.

She stood side by side with Wesley, surveying the train station.

Though it was not so much a train station as it was a hut on the riverbank of Sirta, with tree trunks holding up the wooden roof and casting a line of shade. There were benches made from vines and iron, sprinkled with pink blossoms from nearby trees.

Floating railway stations were usually large and lavish, with sweeping theaters and ceilings high enough to house clouds. The trains were sleek swords that swept through enchanted waters, with windows tall and large so no part of the journey was missed. They were beautiful and grandiose and a tribute to the architecture of the city.

At least, they were in Creije.

But the Grankan station was not at all like that. Instead, it was beautiful for its simplicity. Tavia suspected that in Deshri or Maynit, the two larger Wrenyi cities, the stations had more in common with those she was used to. But Granka was the holy land and this was its five-river city, and there was something wonderful and serene in its modesty. Something that made it seem far more magical.

“Don’t tell me you’re having second thoughts,” Wesley said. “We need a floating train to get across the Onnela Sea in time to find the Kingpin. You said that a ship wouldn’t do and we can’t use the old steam train we rode in on since that uses *actual tracks*. This was your idea. If I knew you were going to flake out, I would’ve brought Falk or one of the other buskers.”

Tavia knew that wasn’t true.

Sure, Wesley could have brought any number of people, but he never would have.

He brought her, because they both knew that was all he needed. Not just because this station was small and barely guarded, but because together they were a force to be reckoned with.

Together, they didn’t need anyone else.

Wesley gestured to the many pouches Tavia had stolen from the consort. “Magic at the ready,” he said.

Tavia’s face scrunched. “We won’t need it. I think I could steal this train alone, blindfolded, with one hand behind my back.”

“Don’t get cocky,” Wesley scolded. “They could press an alarm and have guards here in minutes.”

“Or,” Tavia said, strolling forward without him, “they could piss their pants at the sight of me.”

The train station had four ticket booths, three of which were empty. In the only open one a young man, a few years older than Tavia, leaned on his elbows, poking his head through the window to catch the passing breeze.

He wore glasses—which were rare in Creije, where vision-correction charms were all the rage among the swells and tourists—and on the table beside him was a neat row of items, beginning with various colored charms and ending with a dagger.

A line of protection, the preciseness of which told Tavia that he never had much use for it.

The man asked them a question in Wrenyi and when Tavia and Wesley only blinked, he paused to take in their outfits. Tavia’s steel-tipped boots and Wesley’s fine-pressed suit.

“Uskhanyan?” he asked.

They nodded.

“Creijen,” he said with enthusiasm.

They nodded again.

“How can I help you?” he asked in an excited rendition of their language.

He did not suspect them to be anything more than tourists.

Wesley smiled, all lazy charm and handsome edges.

And yes, Tavia could admit that his edges were handsome.

“We just have a quick question, if that’s okay?”

Wesley’s voice was like pure honey and Tavia was surprised enough by it that she chided herself.

She’d forgotten that outside the shroud of Creije, to perfect strangers who knew no better, Wesley could seem innocent and approachable. That at any given moment he could give the illusion of being any given thing and he did not need tricks and magic to do it. All he needed was a suit and a smile, and whatever masqueraded as charm among the rich.

“I can help you,” the man said. “What question?”

Wesley pulled out his gun and set it on the counter. “Are you alone?”

The man’s face dropped and he darted for his long, neat line of protection.

They disappeared before his eyes.

Before the man had a chance to be confused, Tavia held out her hand. The marbles of his magic were in her palms.

They were almost too easy to lift.

“Stealing is a lot simpler when you have the consort’s dirty magic,” Tavia said. “If I had a trick that let me summon an item from someone’s pocket back in Creije, I would have had so much fun.”

“It’s clearly wasted on helping us save the realm,” Wesley said.

“Exactly.” Tavia gestured to the new dagger tucked into her waist, which she’d also taken from the man. “Thanks for the extra weapon,” she said. “I’ve always said that you can never have too much of a good thing.”

Sometimes she really couldn’t help herself and the look on the man’s face only egged her on.

Wesley grinned, real and wide.

It made Tavia nostalgic for the days when they had crafted cons as a team. When they were kids and Wesley was just an orphan like her, only a little older and lot smugger.

Back then, the other buskers were more focused on sabotaging each other than learning the trade, but Wesley was talented enough that he didn’t need to bother being cruel, which meant Tavia didn’t need to bother hating him.

Wesley was the one who made her practice magic, even when she got the flu or a dodgy stomach from the rations. Days and weeks and months and all Tavia did was practice, read the books he brought her, and memorize the natural way Wesley wielded charms, until finally they could busk the center of the market square together. And then, once they were older, create fortune orbs in the still of night.

Tavia didn’t realize how much she’d missed it until now.

How much she’d missed *him*. Not Wesley Thornton Walcott, the underboss of Creije and a complete bastard, but *her* Wesley. Her friend. And the girl Tavia had been when she was with him, as wide-eyed as those people who came to Creije looking for a dream.

“I don’t think you want me to ask whether you’re alone again,” Wesley said. “It won’t be pretty.”

The man slumped back into his chair. “I am alone, but soon three more come.”

“The other ticket booths won’t be closed for long then,” Tavia said.

She took some joy in knowing she was right. They really could have taken this place blindfolded.

Tavia palmed her newly stolen charms, reading each one before she added them to her pouch.

“Hopefully there’s some kind of binding magic here,” she said. “Because we’re definitely going to need him and his colleagues tied up and out of commission. Maybe a silencing charm too, so they don’t run their mouths and scream for help.”

Wesley leaned over the counter, his smile wicked as the young man regarded him with a mix of fear and resignation.

“You’d think with all those charms she has, some would’ve rubbed off on her,” Wesley said in a mock whisper. He tapped his gun on the counter. “Now, there’s just one more thing we need from you.”

He turned to Tavia and for the first time in years, she felt like they were a real team again.

Tavia leaned beside him and eyed the booth worker.

With a grin to echo Wesley’s she said, “I don’t suppose you know when the next supply train is coming through?”