The Nimble Man Read Free

this about, babe?" the goblin asked,
casting a quick glance over his shoulder, his gnarled features silhouetted by
the greenish light from the limo's dashboard. "I mean, I need my beauty
sleep and the boss rousted me without telling me much. What's the hurry?"
    Eve closed her eyes and sighed. "If I explain it to
you, will you stop calling me 'babe?'"
    "I can try."
    She nodded, opening her eyes and sitting up straighter in
her seat. Her black hair fell in a tumble across her face and she swept it back
again. "That's good. Doyle would be unhappy if I ripped your throat out."
    The rain pelted the limousine's roof and sluiced down the
windows. The engine purred and Squire kept both hands on the wheel as they slid
through another intersection. Once again he caught her eye in the rearview
mirror.
    "Don't be that way, darlin'. I don't mean anything by
it. And I'd have to be blind not to notice what a looker you are."
    Eve's upper lip curled back in a hiss that revealed her
fangs. "That could be arranged."
    "Okay, okay," Squire protested, shrugging. "Just
making conversation. You don't wanna talk, we won't talk."
    Eve turned her gaze out the window again as they passed
closed shops and newsstands with their metal rolling doors locked down tight. A
tall, thin man in a hooded rain slicker hunched over as he walked his dog, the
little beast leading him along by its leash, creating confusion as to which of
them was the pet. Given the hour, Eve was tempted to believe the dog was in
charge.
    "I know very little," she began, still peering out
into the rain.
    "That's more than I know," Squire noted. He fished
around the front seat and then held up a pack of cigarettes in triumph. The
limo slowed as he tapped one out and used his lips to draw it from the pack.
    "I've forgotten more than you'll ever know," Eve
said, and her voice sounded hollow even to her, tinged with a melancholy she
rarely allowed in herself. It was the rain. The damned rain. For some reason it
always put her in mind of a simpler time, long ago.
    Squire either missed her tone or ignored it entirely. "All
right, you know so much, then spill it." The goblin pushed in the
dashboard lighter, the unlit cigarette rolling like a toothpick between his
lips.
    "You're not going to smoke in here," she said.
    His wiry eyebrows went up and he glanced at her in the
mirror. "I'm not? No, I guess I'm not."
    Eve glanced over at Doyle. He grumbled in his sleep now,
brow knitted in consternation. She was not surprised. He was not the sort of
man she would ever expect to have sweet dreams.
    "It's pretty simple, actually. You know the story of
Lorenzo Sanguedolce?"
    "Sure. Sweetblood. That's what all the arcane books
call him. Sweetblood the Mage."
    Eve nodded once. She had expected Squire to know the story. Anyone
even tangentially involved with the magical community would have. Tales of
Sanguedolce could be traced back as early as the eleventh century and though he
seemed to have changed his name several times the stories about him cropped up
in journals from a dozen countries over the course of hundreds of years. He was
called Sweetblood, but it was unclear whether this was a literal translation of
his Italian surname, or if the surname was simply another variation on that
descriptive appellation.
    By all accounts Sanguedolce had been the most powerful
sorcerer who had ever lived. Yet early in the twentieth century, he had simply
disappeared. None of the dark powers in the world had laid claim to having
destroyed him and though there were rumors and whispers, no mage was ever
proven to have knowledge of his whereabouts, or his possible demise.
    "You know your boss has been looking for the mage for a
very long time?" Eve asked.
    Squire chuckled without humor. "That's an
understatement. Never thought it was a great idea, myself. You know what they
say about searching for Sweetblood."
    "We may have found him."
    The goblin jerked the steering wheel so hard to the right as
he spun to stare at Eve