Dark Currents by Lindsay Buroker Page B

have a pistol. Or maybe not. She eyed the hard walls and pictured a pistol ball ricocheting everywhere.
    Sword in hand, she stalked around the machine, searching for weaknesses. The glowing orb caught her eye. If it powered the machine, destroying it should halt everything. Of course, the orb might throw off some magical surge of energy that would electrocute her faster than a lightning bolt…
    “Why do I get myself into these situations?” she muttered.
    After taking a deep breath, she gripped the sword in both hands, raised her arms above her head, and slammed the tip into the orb.
    Amaranthe expected it to shatter like glass or repel her blade like metal. Instead the sword sank in slowly, as if through dense mud, and the orb deflated, collapsing in on itself. The magical light faded, leaving her lantern as the only illumination. Machinery whined and ground to a halt. Silence filled the vault.
    Until the alarm went off.
    The sound, something between an alley cat’s yowl and a baby’s scream, reverberated from the walls and hammered Amaranthe’s eardrums. Footsteps pounded through the hallway overhead.
    She sucked in her belly to slide past the machine, crouched behind it, and cut off the lantern. Scrapes sounded on the other side of the door. Amaranthe gripped her sword, though she hoped to hide and slip out during the confusion.
    The door swung open. Keeping her head low, she peered around the corner of the machine. Light from the hallway silhouetted two figures and threw their shadows across the floor. Maybe she would get lucky and one would be Sicarius.
    “Someone’s in here.” It was Ellaya’s voice.
    So much for hiding.
    “Get the others!”
    Amaranthe sprang. She landed on top of the machine and leaped between Ellaya and a bouncer holding a pistol. Amaranthe shouldered the woman into the door, even as she slashed at the man. Her intention was not to do major damage, but the bouncer lifted an arm in a hasty block, and her blade sliced through clothing and flesh. He roared and dropped the pistol.
    Amaranthe grabbed it and ran past them. The bouncer lunged for her but clipped Ellaya, and his fingers only brushed Amaranthe’s shirt. She jammed her sword into its sheath and sprang up the ladder.
    She had to stop at the top to fiddle with the trapdoor latch. A hand clasped her ankle. The bouncer. She leveled the pistol at him, pointing it between his eyes. He released her.
    Amaranthe threw the trapdoor open. She sprinted down the hallways and darted between the two bouncers guarding the entrance to the back rooms. One let out a startled yell and reached for her, but he was too slow.
    In the crowded gambling room, Amaranthe’s size was an advantage. She ducked and dodged, crawling under a table at one point, while the larger men struggled through the patrons.
    “Crazy woman with a pistol!” someone shouted.
    “Where?” a bouncer called.
    “Get her!”
    “There. She’s running for the—oomph!”
    Amaranthe wondered if that was Maldynado, doing his bit to help. Or had he left long ago? And where
was
Sicarius?
    She ducked arms stretching to grab her. One caught her hood and nearly tore her jacket off. She tugged away, seams ripping. Only in the empire would people attack someone with a pistol instead of throwing themselves to the floor.
    The path cleared as Amaranthe neared the entrance, and she thought she might escape without shooting anyone. The double doors stood open, the night street stretching beyond, but two bouncers blocked the exit. With bare muscled arms that blacksmiths would have envied, the men appeared strong enough to rip someone’s head off with their hands—and stupid enough not to move at the sight of a firearm.
    A wise woman would have stopped and tried to find another way out. Amaranthe sprinted toward them, pistol raised. They saw the weapon and crouched, but did not move from the doorway.
    One slipped a hand into his belt. Steel glinted. A throwing star spun toward Amaranthe.
    She