Weapon of Blood by Chris A. Jackson

gait.  A
hint of flowery feminine perfume and a distinctive, musky odor wafted in with
the breeze of the closing door, corroborating Paxal’s report.  She cocked her
head, considering her assistant in a new light, until Lad’s words from the previous
evening—“Surely you’ve looked at men and thought…”—snapped her from her musing.
    This is Dee , godsdamnit!  Stop thinking about him that way!
    “Morning, Dee.”  Her cup rattled into the
saucer as he sat down and arranged the correspondence to sign.  “Late night? 
You look tired.”  She continued eating, but watched his face, wondering if he
knew that Moirin gossiped about him.
    “No later than usual, Miss.  There were
only the five letters.”
    Not a hint of evasion or unease.  Either
he doesn’t know his own reputation, or he doesn’t know I know it.   She
watched his long, graceful fingers arrange the letters, inkwell and pen for
her, and imagined them against Moirin’s olive skin.  Focus, Mya!
    She speared her last bite of sausage,
mopped up the dregs of egg with it and popped it into her mouth.  She chased
the last bite down with a sip of blackbrew and said, “Good.  Let’s get started
then.”
    He slid the first letter across the table
to her.  “This is to Journeyman Keese.”
    Mya breathed in the flowery scent.  Got
to be Moirin’s .  She took up the pen and signed the letter.
    “Next we’ve got the one for the master of
the Teamsters Guild.”
    “Riley O’Lance.  Right.”  She read the
letter, noting his elegant hand and the cordial embellishments he’d added. 
“Perfect.  Very good, Dee.”  She signed it and passed it back.
    “Thank you.”  He gave her the next.  “And
the issue with the missing dues from the Westmarket brothels.”
    “Yes.”  This one was much more strongly
worded, the hand firmer, the language plain and straightforward.  “Excellent.” 
She signed.
    “And the moneylender on Serpent Avenue.” 
He took the signed letter and handed her the next.
    “Of course.”  She read, and tapped the
text with a finger.  “This phrase here, Dee.  Do you think it sounds too soft?”
    He stood and rounded the table, leaning
over her shoulder to look at the phrase in question.
    His proximity set Mya’s nerves tingling,
as if her tattoos writhed along her skin.  She shifted in her chair, suddenly
uncomfortable.
    “I think it’s adequate.  Anything
stronger might be misconstrued, and the Moneylenders Guild has strong
connections with the Thieves Guild.”
    “Right you are.”  She breathed deep, and
the tingling along her nerves coalesced into a warm quiver in the pit of her
stomach.  Oh, stop it, Mya!   She signed the letter.  “And the last one?”
    “Here.”  He leaned across the table and
grabbed the final letter, the one to Jayse.  “The issue with that gang in the
Sprawls bothering our friend.”
    “Right.”  She barely glanced at the
letter before signing it.  “Very good, Dee.  Thank you.”
    “My pleasure, Miss Mya.”  He stepped back
around the table and collected his things.  “Anything else this morning?”
    Best deal with this now .  “Nothing to do with business, but I’d like to
suggest something.”
    “Yes?”  He stood there, attentive and
open.
    Mya gave him a canted smile.  “Ask Moirin
to wear a little less perfume when she visits you, and freshen up a bit before
you bring the letters in.”
    “I…”  His face flushed crimson.  “I will,
Miss Mya.  My apologies.”
    A thrill of satisfaction banished the
distracting tingles from her stomach.  “Don’t apologize, Dee.”  She stood and
tugged her shirt straight.  “No harm in taking what pleasure life offers you. 
Gods know it’s a rare commodity in our business.  But be careful. 
Relationships can be dangerous for people like us.”
    “I will be.  Thank you, Miss Mya.”  He
turned to go.
    “And get some sleep.”
    “I will.”
    “Alone.”
    He blushed again, but could not