Chapter 33 Price in the City
By the time they reached the shelter of the glassworks, Daisy's vision was a smear of red and gray—the room stank of burned sand and old lye. The walls, once transparent and sun-bright, were patched with boards and soot. They crouched in the belly of a furnace, cold and echoing, the only light a trembling candle held by Rose.
Daisy dropped to her knees, palms slapping the floor. The glamour failed with a shudder, scales blooming on her arms and creeping onto her face. She heard Delia gasp, then the sound vanished, replaced by the staccato footfalls of the kids and the rattle of Maribel's breath.
She wanted to rest. Instead, she pressed the bloody rag to her palm and forced herself up, scales flashing in the dim light.
Delia met her at the furnace mouth, a tanner's hook gripped in both hands. "Whatever you are," Delia said, "you're still one of us. Don't let it own you."
Daisy wanted to laugh. "No promises."
From somewhere far above, she felt the itch of Xeris, the dragon's mind circling, tasting the air. The anger there was colossal, a storm, a continent made of rage and hunger. It pressed down on Daisy, trying to bend her will, to make her call for help, to let him loose on the city.
She pressed back, picturing walls, picturing herself a single stubborn pebble against a landslide. "No," she whispered, knowing he would hear. "Not yet. You'll level the whole slum."
He sulked. She felt it. But he did not break in.
Sam tugged at her coat. "Where do we go?"
Daisy knelt, wincing at the throb in her chest. "There's a tunnel," she said, voice rasping. "Behind the furnace. It runs under the vats and out to the river. You remember?"
He nodded. Rose and Mina huddled beside him, pale as moonlight.
Delia hovered, weapon still in hand. "What about you?"
Daisy grinned, all teeth now. "I'll cover. They want me, not you."
Oliver peeked through a crack in the wall, face white. "They're coming. Ten, maybe twelve. Blackwood's with them."
Daisy's stomach turned, but she made herself stand tall. She flexed her new claws, which were a thing, and pressed her good hand to the floor. Blood oozed from her wrist, pooling, then spinning in a slow, lazy spiral.
She whispered to it, barely audible. The blood lifted, shimmered, and broke apart into a fine mist. She pictured it in her head: how the wind moved through the tunnels, where the drafts twisted. She set the blood-mist free, let it drift toward the door.
Delia watched, awed and scared. "What does it do?"
Daisy looked her in the eye. "Whatever I want it to."
Delia nodded. Then she grabbed the kids, helped Maribel to her feet, and together they vanished behind the furnace, footsteps echoing into the dark.
Daisy turned to Oliver. "You should go, too."
He shook his head. "I'm not leaving you."
She almost smiled. "Liar."
He blushed, then darted after the others, leaving Daisy alone in the growing red haze.
The door at the far end shuddered, then burst inward. The first two men in black swept the room with rods, their faces blank and glassy. The blood-mist caught the light, and the men stopped, confused, wavering. One reached for his rod, but the mist clung to his face, blinding him. He screamed, hands to his eyes.
Daisy used the distraction to dart behind the biggest crate. She watched as the rest of the squad fanned out, professional, efficient, but wary now. The mist was everywhere, soft and beautiful. Some of the men hesitated, not knowing what it was, but one kept moving. He was taller and older, with a face carved from wood and a scar that cut his mouth into a permanent sneer.
Cornelius Blackwood.
He stopped ten feet from Daisy's hiding spot, eyes unblinking, rod held low and ready.
"You're not human anymore," he said, not loud, not angry. "But I never cared much for the old rules."
Daisy stepped into the open, hands at her sides. The blood-mist circled her head, halo-bright. "You're not afraid?"
He grinned. "Fear is for amateurs."
She looked at the rod, the way he held it. "You're here to kill me, or capture?"
He considered. "I'll know when I see you up close." He cocked his head. "They say you cut your own hand off to get past the city wards. Is it true?"
Daisy flexed her claws. "No. But I'd have done worse if I had to."
He nodded, as if this confirmed something. "You know they'll never let you live. Not the city, not the nobles, not the council. They'll hunt you forever."
Daisy shrugged. "They've hunted me my whole life. This is just louder."
He smiled, and for a second, Daisy saw something almost like respect. "You're not the first to make yourself a legend. But you might be the last."
She felt Xeris in her head again, angrier now, desperate to intervene. 'Let me,' he growled. 'One breath. They'll be cinders.'
Daisy ignored him, focused on Blackwood. "What do you want?"
He stepped closer, and the mist parted. "A deal. Please tell me what you really are, and I'll let your family walk. No trackers, no chains. Just answers."
Daisy laughed, dry and bitter. "You don't make the rules."
He nodded, accepting it. "Then I kill you, and take what's left to the city. Your choice."
She let the blood-mist circle, shaping it into a bird, a sparrow, sharp-beaked, eyes bright. It hovered between them, wings beating. Blackwood watched, fascinated.
"You can't control it forever," he said.
Daisy smiled, letting the scales show in full. "Wanna bet?"
He flicked the rod, sending a bolt of blue fire at her. She ducked, the bird exploding in a cloud of red, the mist clinging to Blackwood's face, seeping into his eyes, his mouth. He staggered, cursed, tried to clear it, but the blood-magic dug deep.
Daisy ran. She leapt over the fallen men, dodged the wild swings of rods, and sprinted to the back of the room. A bullet grazed her leg, but she barely felt it.
She heard Blackwood behind her, voice raw and furious. "I'll find you! I'll hunt you to the end!"
She didn't answer, just pushed through the back door and into the night.
The tunnel behind the glassworks was pitch black, air thick and damp. Daisy ran, trusting her ears, her memory, her blood. She caught up with the others at the river's edge, Delia and the kids already piling into a small, rotten boat.
Maribel sat at the prow, eyes open, breathing steady. She watched Daisy approach, and for a second, Daisy saw not the mother she remembered, but a woman born for this kind of fight.
"You did well," Maribel whispered.
Daisy climbed into the boat, barely fitting, and pushed them off with one long shove.
Behind them, the city glowed, ward-lights flashing, alarms ringing, every window a watcher. Daisy looked back only once, saw the blood-mist swirling in the dark, and smiled.
She was a monster now. But she was their monster.
And the city would never forget her.