Chains of Silver (Alchemy Empire Book 1)

Chapter 29b

For Earthstone, to make her Thursday better. :-)

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Thank god, Dietrich. Took you long enough. I cringed at the snippy Delphine tone.

You’re ever so welcome, Miss Birdwell, came the sardonic reply.

“Who is this, duchess?” The man’s voice was thinned, constrained by the knife blade, but as vicious as ever. “Did you get yourself a protector? Goes to show not every man is very picky—”

The knife points pressed harder, halting his hateful words. His hands moved toward his throat. Another jerk of the knife stopped that, too. I saw the dark gleam of blood on his neck. He held up his hands in surrender. 

“Where’s the paid in full document?” I demanded.

“Coat pocket,” he rasped. “Left side.”

Shit, I have to touch him?

Be quick. I don’t know how much longer I can hold him, and he’s quite a bit bigger than me. And he likely has a gun. 

All great reasons to hurry. I drew close, but his hand flinched.

The knife dug deeper into his skin. 

“You move your hands again and you’re dead.” The voice was eerily calm, pleasant, as if Dietrich were remarking on the very fine weather or the lovely flowers.

I swallowed hard. Quickly, I flipped back the left side of the man’s coat and pulled a folded document from the inner pocket. A fountain pen was tucked next to it and I grabbed that too. 

Now step away. To the side. 

I did as Dietrich ordered. 

“I’m going to slowly twist my knives into your sorry corpse,” Dietrich hissed. “If you sign the document quickly enough, you’ll live. If not, I’ll have the pleasure of ridding the world of you.”

The coldness of his voice brought chills even to me. I didn’t say anything to him through our connection. I was more than a little scared to. 

“Give him the pen and document,” he told me. He pressed the blades deeper.

The gloak whimpered.

I put the paper and pen into his trembling hands. He brought his hands together, fumbling with the document and pen. 

Dietrich hadn’t been bluffing—he really was slowly, excruciatingly driving the knives into the man’s flesh. His rage, barely restrained, roiled around him. 

Now, Miss Birdwell.

I had one more job to do. I reached into a pocket in my skirt and pulled out a syringe. I uncapped the end with a long, thick needle. 

I had only practiced this a few times on a chicken carcass. 

The man shook the pen—it wasn’t signing. Tears ran down his face. I forced myself not to feel pity. He had nearly killed Delphine. If we hadn’t found her when we did, he would have been a murderer. 

Quickly!

Right. I took a deep breath. Before I could lose my nerve, I stepped close to the man. 

I jabbed the needle hard into his upper arm. It slid easily through the wool of his coat and through his shirt sleeves, piercing his skin.

“Bloody hell!” he cried.